


It Would Be You

by The_A_Team_Life_1119



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adulthood, Childhood, F/M, Family, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_A_Team_Life_1119/pseuds/The_A_Team_Life_1119
Summary: Din Djarin and Cara Dune didn't first meet on Sorgan, but much earlier, during a more innocent time. As time passes, they take divergent paths, only to unknowingly reunite. But time has not been kind to either of them. Starts off with kid!Din and toddler!Cara.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Cara Dune/The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Original Character/Original Character
Comments: 64
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1- First Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic for The Mandalorian and my first fanfic for AO3. Please be kind! 
> 
> I am obsessed with this pairing. I created some OCs because right now we know next to nothing about Cara or Din´s family beyond the very basics so...I got creative. 
> 
> I decided that Din speaks Spanish and Cara speaks Italian because it was easier for my mind that way. Translations for this chapter: 
> 
> Mamá - Mama/Mother  
> mi'jo- short for "mi hijo" which means "my son"  
> Claro que sí, mamá- Of course, Mom  
> hombrecito- little man  
> Papá- Papa/Father  
> que linda- how cute/pretty  
> Mamma- Mama/Mom/Mother  
> Babbo- Dad/Father  
> stronza- bitch/spiteful woman  
> brujita- little witch  
> mi diaspace- I'm sorry  
> Più forte-Louder  
> Vieni qui, fiorellino mio- Come here, my little flower  
> No sé- I don't know
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the names of Cara's siblings/parents and Din's parents' names. Disney owns everything else. Lucky.

“I’m not going,” Din Djarin huffed, crossing his arms and sitting defiantly on a chair at the kitchen table.

“Nonsense,” his mother, Cecilia Djarin tutted from the kitchen sink as she placed a plate in the washer, not once looking up at her son, whom she was sure was sporting a scowl. “You are going.”

“But why?” Din whined, exasperated. “It’s not fair! I wanted to spend the summer here with my friends, not on some boring trip to Alderaan to see a bunch of people I don’t even know.”

“You know them, Din. We traveled there when you were three,” Cecilia explained.

“But I don’t remember them, Mamá, you know that. It’s stupid,” he grumbled as he kicked one of the legs of the table.

“It’s not stupid, mi’jo,” his mother couldn’t help but laugh silently at this stubborn child. _Every inch his father, this one_ , she shook her head, “Adults are allowed to have friends too, you know.”

“Yeah, but why do _I_ have to see them?”

“Because Siriana has not seen you in five years and would like to see us again,” she smiled. Her smile faded as she thought about the ever-changing galaxy, currently at war. “Who knows the next time we will get this chance,” Cecilia added silently.

Her serious tone wasn’t lost on Din. Even though he was only eight, he knew that there was a war going on in the galaxy. He didn’t know much about it, but with each passing day his parents’ brows grew more furrowed with concern. Knowing he didn’t have much say in the matter, he sighed, shuffling to his room. “Ok, ok, I get it.”

“Don’t forget to pack your toothbrush!” his mother called after him.

“¡Claro que sí, mamá!” he called back, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her request. 

The next morning Din and his mother traveled with his father, Darin to their region’s shipping port. The droid at their docking bay called for passengers to board in an irritatingly cheery tone. “That’s us,” his mother turned to grab their bags before leaning over to kiss Din’s father, “We’ll let you know when we arrive,” She stroked his cheek lovingly.

“I know you will. Love you,” Darin Djarin smiled sweetly, smoothing his wife’s hair. He turned to his son, who, for what it was worth, was trying to put on a brave face, but the worry was evident in his large brown eyes. “Take care of your mother, ok hombrecito?” He reached down to ruffle his son’s curly brown locks affectionately.

“Why can’t you go with us?” Din looked up, a pout forming as he puffed his lower lip out just a hair. _Nice try, kid_ , Darin thought.

“You know why,” his mother scolded softly, “Your father has to tend to the grocery store while we are away. People depend on him for their food.”

“I know, but I still wish he could go,” Din reached around his father’s waist to hug him, a hug Darin returned.

“Don’t worry, Din, everything will be ok here.” Darin wasn’t sure of that, but it was no use worrying Din with “what if”s. He patted his back reassuringly, “It’ll be a fun time for you. Besides,” he added, one corner of his mouth turning up with mischief, “It’s going to be boring here. If you stay you’d be counting produce all day.”

“That does sound boring…” Din assented.

“You’ll be fine. Now hurry, before the ship leaves without you!” Darin ushered his son and wife towards their docking bay.

“Bye, Papá!” Din turned one last time to wave at his father before boarding.

The trip to Alderaan was relatively uneventful. It took about a week to arrive and when they did, it was mid-afternoon there. As the ship’s doors opened, a cool natural sunlight filled the cabin, causing Din to squint a little. Holding his mother’s hand, they stepped off the ship. Din took in his surroundings. It was much busier at this port than at his home planet’s port. He saw all manner of species and beings wandering the platform, some looking rushed and some moving very slowly. There was a distinctly floral scent in the air that mingled with the scent of some kind of bread from a stand nearby and the scent of the air and wind from the mountains around them. The sounds of several languages and dialects reached Din’s ears and he found himself turning his head every which way to find their source. A gentle, crisp breeze blew and Din released his mother’s hand for a second as he drew his traveling robe closer.

“What do you think, Din?” his mother asked as they approached a small crowd awaiting passengers’ arrivals.

“It’s ok, I guess,” he shrugged, unwilling to admit how thoroughly enchanted he was with all of the sights, sounds, and smells of this planet he had experienced thus far.

“Cecilia! Cecilia!” a voice called somewhere off to the right. He turned to the sound of the voice calling his mother’s name and saw a woman about his mother’s age with long, dark brown hair wrapped in a braid around her head. She didn’t look so different from his own mother, save for her hairstyle. He noticed there were others standing with her. There was a man with dark, curly, hair (not unlike his own Papá) holding a small child with a singular braid down her back. Next to him were two boys who were their father’s spitting image, but younger. That gave Din some hope; they looked to be about his age.

“Siriana!” his mother called back, pulling Din gently towards the family waving to them. “Oh! It’s so good to see you!” his mother exclaimed as she pulled her friend in an embrace, “It’s been way too long.” They kissed each other’s cheeks in greeting.

“Indeed it has!” Siriana took her friend’s hands in her own before looking down at Din, winking covertly at Cecilia as she asked, “And who is this handsome young man?”

“This is Din,” Cecilia reached for him, quietly nudging him forward. “Din, say hello,” she urged.

“Hi,” Din greeted before looking away quickly, blushing as he gave a singular awkward wave.

“By the stars, you have grown so much!” Siriana turned to face him, then, placing her hands on his cheeks. “He is definitely his father’s son,” She snorted, standing back up to speak to Cecilia.

Cecilia grinned wryly, “Ha! No kidding. He is eight years old now and looks and acts like him more and more with each passing day.”

“That sounds like my Cabell. He is 100% his father’s son,” she turned her head toward one of the boys, who stepped forward next to his mom. “Cabell, greet our guest, please,” she instructed warmly, but with a hint of force in her tone. He heard that tone in his own mother’s voice from time to time.

“Hi, I’m Cabell,” he mumbled, looking anywhere but at Din. He looked back up at his mother to find her giving him a disapproving look. He shriveled slightly, which brought a small smile to Din’s face, oddly comforted that Cabell’s mom could elicit the same reaction from Cabell as Din’s mom could from him.

“He’s eight, as well,” she turned back to Cecilia while the two mothers exchanged a look of understanding as they shook their heads. _Boys,_ they thought. She gestured behind her, “Palindo has our two youngest with him. You may remember Carlo as the little one I was carrying back then,” she grinned, motioning to her stomach.

“Of course!” Cecilia turned to them as Carlo gave his own shy greeting. Palindo walked forward to stand next to his wife. “Hello, Palindo, it’s been too long!” She took his hand and kissed his cheek, “And who is this little lady?” she asked, running her fingers over the little girl’s braid tenderly.

“Carasynthia,” Siriana answered, taking the little girl’s booted foot in her hand and wiggling it a little, “My youngest. She’s only three,” she added. The girl hid her face shyly in her father’s neck, thumb in her mouth. 

“Ah, que linda,” Cecilia sighed wistfully, “I tried to convince Darin we should try for a girl, but, as you know, Din is quite enough for us,” she chuckled, but her eyes were sad. After Din was born, his mother had almost died. She could not risk having another child.

“I know,” Siriana said softly and knowingly as she took her friend’s hand in hers again. “Come, we have a speeder out back that will take you to our home.”

Din and his mother climbed in the back of the speeder, his mother’s friend and her husband riding in the front while the three children rode in the middle seat. They sped off away from the space port and through the city. The colorful city landscape of buildings, peddlers, and shoppers gave way to the green grass of the countryside. Din noted that the smell of crisp mountain air and flowers was still present, if not stronger than before. They finally arrived at the family’s house, a home surrounded by acres and acres of rolling hills, trees, and various life forms of all shapes and sizes. Din reluctantly admitted to himself that the trees and flowers and animals made for a very pleasant and relaxing environment, and he liked it more and more with each passing moment. The snow-capped mountains in the distance added to the scenery and he wondered briefly how hard it would be to climb one. He was jerked from his thoughts by his mother as she took his hand, allowing Siriana to guide them to the guest room, where his mother started to unpack. 

“What do you think, Din?” his mother asked for the second time since their arrival as she placed her pack next to the double bed they would share.

“It’s cool, I guess,” he shrugged non-committedly, dropping his own pack unceremoniously next to hers. His mother glanced at him knowingly, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“Well then, why don’t you go downstairs and ask Cabell to show you around this ‘cool’ place,” she nodded toward the door. He looked up, uncertain, to meet her gaze. “Go on,” she urged him with a wave of her hand. Din turned obediently and walked downstairs to find Siriana’s firstborn putting on his boots.

“Hey,” Din supplied weakly, “Can I come with you?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind getting dirty,” Cabell responded, giving him a reluctant smile.

“I don’t mind at all,” Din replied as he slipped on his own boots. The two ran outside toward the hill when a little voice suddenly called,

“Wait for me! Wait for me!”

Din turned towards the voice and saw the little girl from earlier more or less toddling towards them, hands outstretched as if to stop the boys from moving. Her brown hair was coming loose from her braid, which swished back and forth wildly as she ran.

“Ugh,” Cabell groaned, rolling his eyes as he turned back towards his sister. “Go back inside, Cara,” he commanded her.

“Mamma says I can play with you,” the little girl huffed, stomping a foot indignantly. 

“Fine, fine,” Cabell sighed, lifting her up so she rode on his back, two pudgy hands around his neck and two feet around his waist.

“Hooray!” she shouted gleefully, kicking her heels together. As they got closer to the barn (which, Din noted with some frustration, was at the top of a hill), Din noticed a pungent smell.

“Yuck! That reeks!” He blurted, plugging his nose. Cabell just laughed as he opened the barn door.

“You get used to it, trust me.”

His sister climbed down from his back before lightly pulling on Din’s sleeve. “Wanna see my nerfs?” she asked hopefully.

“Cara, not right now. Babbo wants me to feed the fathiers, first,” Cabell reached for a pitchfork and gathered some hay, walking to the stalls, “Wanna help?” He turned back to Din. Cara shuffled sadly to the pile of tools and grabbed a smaller pitchfork.

“I guess,” Din shrugged, not unaccustomed to hard work himself. He sometimes helped his father with stocking the shelves at the grocery store after school.

“So what’s it like, living on a farm?” Din asked as he heaved some hay over the stall of a fathier called “Lola”.

“It’s ok, I guess. Lots of animals. It smells a lot,” he scrunched his nose.

“What do you guys do here?”

“We raise and breed fathiers to sell, and we do the same with nerfs. The nerfs usually end up with…” Cabell paused to look at Cara, who was not paying attention, “Butchers,” he finished, whispering. He continued, “My mother also has a garden of herbs and flowers that she sells at the market in town on occasion.”

“Interesting. And do you have to take care of the animals all by yourselves? You seem to have a lot.”

“Yeah, mostly, although my dad hired a nerfherder named Lonny who cares for the nerfs some days of the week when they need to be herded, sheared, or milked.”

“He smells,” Cara piped up from her corner as she shoveled some hay into Cabell’s pile.

“I bet he does,” Din agreed, “Your mother…she’s a healer though, right?”

“Yes, like yours,” Cabell responded. The two women had met while spending a semester abroad and had hit it off as friends when they worked in the same healing center.

After a few minutes of working in quiet, the two finished their work. Din placed his pitchfork down and brushed hay off his pants, satisfied with completing the task. “Come on, let’s do something fun.”

“We can go out to the meadow, if you want. I’ve got a ball and there’s a lot of space to kick it,” Cabell put his pitchfork away and reached for a ball in the corner.

“Sounds fun,” Din agreed. He turned to follow Cabell when, suddenly, those little footsteps were behind him again and he felt a forceful tug on the back of his shirt.

“Wait!” Cara cried, not wanting to be left out, “I wanna show Din the nerfs!” She tugged on his shirt once more for good measure, and Din felt himself come close to losing his balance.

“Carasynthia!” Cabell yelled, “Go back inside! You can show him later!”

“Don’t call me that!” Little Cara growled before marching over to him and hitting his arm, her brown eyes darkening with the fury of a toddler scorned.

Cabell reached around and picked her up around her middle yelling something in a language Din did not understand (It sounded something like ‘stronza’, though Din had no idea what that meant), her feet and arms flailing about in protest as she screamed.

_Wow, I’m so glad she’s not our age,_ Din thought with some relief. _I would definitely not pick a fight with her._ Noticing Cabell was struggling with his grip (and that little Cara had actually landed a few punches), Din decided to help his new friend. “Uh, Cabell, it’s ok,” he began carefully, “I’ll go see the nerfs first, and then I’ll join you later.” Cara immediately stilled in his arms, and Cabell more or less dropped her to the ground with a loud grunt.

Undeterred from the fall, Cara let out a whoop of excitement and Din couldn’t help but snicker at her appearance. Having dropped her onto the ground, Cara’s blue dress was covered from the knees down in dirt, and her hands, also browned with dirt, were raised high in the air as she jumped up and down, her braid now almost completely unraveled. Pieces of straw adorned her messy locks, as well. She walked over to Din and yanked on his hand violently. _She’s strong for a little kid_ , Din thought offhandedly.

“Ok,” Cabell relented, “ You have five minutes, Cara! Then he and I are going to play!” Cabell reminded her sternly as she ran, half-dragging Din, who turned around and met Cabell’s amused eyes with his own. _That’s not a good sign_ , he thought uneasily. Fortunately, the little tyrant slowed as they neared the laser fence and his hand and arms were given a brief reprieve as she released her hold on Din, standing on her tiptoes to push the button that unlocked the gate.

“Come ON!” she grabbed Din’s hand again, forcefully, and he dutifully followed her into the pasture, closing the gate behind him. “These are the nerfs,” she announced, holding both of her grubby hands out in a wide gesture to the putrid-smelling creatures three times her size grazing in the large enclosed area. One of them made a low snorting noise in response, as if to say hello. “That one’s Mazy,” she pointed out. “That one’s Bee, Jaz, and the little one’s Jaz Junior,” she pointed to each of them as she said their names. “I named them,” she stated with pride, her dimpled smile stretching from ear to ear as she clasped her hands behind her back, “We have more, but Babbo says not to name them because they will leave soon.”

“They’re uh…big,” Din commented, trying to sound excited but failing as he saw her face fall, “But strong all the same,” he amended quickly, “Do you feed them?”

The grin returned, “Yes. Every day.” She walked over to the smallest one and pet him (or her, Din wasn’t sure and didn’t feel like checking), her once angry hands gentle and tender as she stroked the creature’s side. Din had to admit, this little kid was an enigma. Granted, he knew he had limited experience being around younger kids, preferring to spend time with his age-peers or even some older students. But this kid…this kid was strange, even for a girl. Most of the girls in his village were like his mom: soft, sweet, and gentle (for the most part). But this little girl was quite the opposite, or so it seemed. He watched her as she whispered something in another language to the animal and he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of girl would be ready to fight one minute and then speak sweetly to an animal the next.

After meeting the nerfs, Cara kept her promise and brought him to Cabell so the two could play. Carlo, the five-year-old, had joined Cabell by that point, and the three boys passed the ball between them as Cara sat and watched. Din had a feeling the little girl was very attached to her brothers.

“Cabell! Carlo! Cara! Din! Dinner time!” A voice called after some time. The children all turned back to the house at the bottom of the hill to see Siriana Dune’s figure waving at them. All at once, they began to run down the hill toward the house, eager to eat. Din wasn’t used to running down steep hills of grass, coming from a planet of mainly sand, and moved a bit slower than the boys. He wondered briefly where Cara was, but he didn’t have to wander long. No sooner had he had that thought than he felt two little hands on his back shove him. Startled, he fell none-too-gracefully, rolling a few times before coming to a stop in a small dirt pile. He slowly looked up to see little Cara all but cackling at his demise as she ran past him towards the house.

“That brujita, _”_ Din snarled as he stood up, brushing his pants and shirt and face with no success. When he finally trudged to the front of the house, he saw his mother and Siriana both shaking their heads and tsking.

“Din Djarin, what happened to you?” his mother shook her head as she brushed him down, futilely trying to clean him. He didn’t even have to answer. A little giggle behind Siriana gave it away. Siriana turned,

“Carasynthia Dune! Did you push him?” she demanded, her harsh glare meeting the young girl’s. Carasynthia had the decency to look a little ashamed as she shifted from one foot to the other, eyes downcast.

“Mi diaspiace,” she muttered begrudgingly in Din’s direction.

“Più forte, and in Basic,” her mother reminded her, the firmness of her tone unwavering.

“Sorry,” Cara’s head lifted briefly and her chocolate eyes met his in apology, her cheeks slightly reddening with embarrassment.

“It’s ok,” Din breathed heavily. After some fussing (from both mothers) about the dirtied state of all the children, (and after a bath and a change of clothes), all sat to eat. Din noticed that while Cabell and Carlo ate cleanly, Cara was shoveling the food in her mouth, getting the red sauce from the main pasta dish all over her face and shirt. Her parents looked to her and then to Din and his mother, a look of defeat on their faces as they resigned themselves to the fact that Cara would need a second bath now.

“Vieni qui, fiorellino mio,” her dad exhaled loudly in resignation once she had finished eating, lifting her up and holding her as far away from him as possible. It took only a moment to see why.

“No, Babbo, no!” she screamed, kicking and thrashing in his arms just as she had done in Cabell’s. Palindo Dune’s gentle assurances echoed down the corridor into the washroom.

“What am I going to do with her?” Siriana breathed, resting her forehead in her hands, shaking her head back and forth.

“No sé,” Cecilia replied, reaching across the table to touch her friend’s hand before continuing, “But I’m sure she will grow out of it.”

“I hope so,” Siriana sat up then, picking up her utensils to eat once more, “I always wanted to have a girl, as you know. But this one behaves more like a son at times than a daughter.”

“I suppose we shall see,” Din’s mother pondered aloud, shrugging her shoulders slightly.

“Heavens help us,” Siriana looked back up at Cecilia and the two giggled. _Girls_ _are just plain weird,_ Din thought, shaking his head in silent confusion. He stole a glance at the two other boys, who shared looks of confusion as well. 

"Remind me to never get married," Cabell leaned over to whisper to him as the two women continued their giggling. 

"You said it," Din agreed. 


	2. I'm Not Leaving You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Cabell get themselves into a little bit of trouble. Cara refuses to miss the action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...Din may be getting into trouble here. Cara is involved, of course. 
> 
> Translations for this chapter (I used Google for Italian and my 5 years of Spanish class knowledge for Spanish. Please feel free to correct me.):  
> ¿Por favor, Mamá?- Please, Mom?  
> Ovviamente- Obviously/Of course  
> Mamma/Mammina- Mama/Mommy/Mother  
> Aspettami!- Wait for me!  
> non puoi venire- you can't come  
> Perché no? - Why not?  
> Per favore- please  
> ¿Te dueles? ¿Estás bien?- Are you hurt? Are you ok/well?  
> Sí- Yes  
> querido- dear  
> chancla- sandal; flip flop  
> una fuerza de natura- a force of nature  
> Non lasciarmi!- Don't leave me!  
> figlia mia- my daughter  
> Ciao!- Goodbye  
> ¿que pasó con nuestro niño?- What happened with our boy?  
> Papi- Papa/Dad/Father

A few weeks passed and Din was surprised to find how much he thoroughly enjoyed spending time with the Dunes. He and Cabell had become fast friends, and he had developed fondness for his younger siblings. He also enjoyed the animals, and longed to learn how to care for them. One particular evening at dinner, Cabell asked of his parents, “Can I take Din for a ride on the fathiers?”

Din had secretly wanted to ride one, and had observed Mr. and Mrs. Dune riding them with ease. Cabell, Carlo, and even Cara (in the arms of Mrs. Dune) rode the smaller ones. He had said nothing, however, being a guest and all.

“Fine by me. Ceci?” Siriana turned to Din’s mother, calling her by her nickname. Din held his breath.

“Well…” Cecilia began, pretending to think deeply about her decision but with a clearly playful look in her eyes.

“¿Por favor, Mamá?” Din clasped his hands together, giving his mother the best pout he could muster.

“Yes, you may,” Cecilia decided, winking at Siriana.

“Awesome!” Din and Cabell both jumped up, high-fiving each other.

“But,” Siriana interrupted, arms crossed, “you have to make sure to give Din one of the tamer fathiers. AND you must stay in the corral!”

“Ovviamente, Mamma,” Cabell nodded, a serious look on his face, but a twinkle in his eyes.

The next day both boys woke up bright and early, having slept very little, thrumming with excitement at the opportunity to spend time together again and, for Din, to try something new. They inhaled their breakfast so quickly, Cecilia quipped, “Those boys are turning into black holes,” eliciting a snort of laughter from Siriana.

They climbed the hill to the barn, ready to start their adventure. They had just opened the door when Din and Cabell heard a small voice call out, “Aspettami!”

“Ugh, not again!” Cabell groaned, rolling his eyes as he turned to face little Cara.

“I wanna ride, too!” she demanded, stomping her boot on the ground, hands on her hips. Din noted that she looked cleaner than usual, her thick, dark hair, freshly braided. _That won’t last long, if she gets her way._ Din smirked to himself.

“No, Cara, non puoi venire,” Cabell shook his head tersely, the finality in his voice leaving no room for argument. 

“Perché no?” Cara whined, little tears glistening the corners of her eyes.

“You’re too young, Cara.”

“No I’m not!” she stomped over to Cabell, jumping up and down and pulling on his coattail, “Per favore? Per favore? Per favore?” she asked repeatedly. Din didn’t need a translator to guess which annoying question she was asking of her brother. Her native language was close enough to his that he understood. Din admired Cabell’s patience.

“FINE!” Cabell conceded with a heavy sigh, “But you ride with me.” Cara let out a shout of joy. Din shook his head in disbelief. _That girl is impossible._

Cabell showed Din how to mount a fathier, and then taught him how to make his fathier slow down, go faster, stop, or turn. After Din demonstrated his understanding sufficiently for Cabell, Cabell mounted Lola, Cara in his lap, and led Din and Shevi (Din’s fathier) by a rope around the corral. “Hey, I’m getting the hang of this!” Din called out to Cabell. Soon, Cabell let go of the rope, and Din was riding on his own for a while. He looked across the way to see his mother and Siriana cheering him on. After a few minutes, however, the women went back inside, and Cabell pulled his animal alongside Din’s.  
  


“Wanna go to the woods?” He inquired lowly, his voice full of mischief.

“The woods?” Din repeated, confused.

“Yeah, it’ll be fun!”

“But didn’t your mother say you had to stay in the corral?”

Cabell waved his hand dismissively, “She doesn’t have to know. Besides, it’s more fun out there.”

“Well…” Din was unsure of this decision, but ultimately, seeing the excitement in both Cabell and Cara’s eyes, he acquiesced, “Sure, but not too fast!” 

“Of course, of course, come on!” Cabell waved his hand again as he dismounted his fathier (carefully, so as not to knock Cara off her seat) to open the corral before mounting the creature again. “I’ll lead the way,” he informed Din, and Din, unfamiliar with fathiers and the wooded area behind the meadow, gave a small dip of his head in affirmation. The two rode through the meadow at a slow pace, but Cabell started speeding up, causing Din to speed up as well. Soon, the two were somehow engaged in a race through the woods. Din was amazed at how swiftly Cabell could ride while still holding Cara fast. Din was distracted momentarily by this thought, and, in that moment, his foot slipped out of its stirrup. Din’s fathier made a sharp turn the opposite direction before he could fix his foot and he immediately fell off to that side with a yell of surprise, one foot still dangling in the stirrup. “Din!” Cabell hollered from somewhere ahead of him, but Din could only feel the painful smack of the ground on his head and various branches and rocks in his side as he bounced helplessly. Cabell stopped his animal in front of Shevi and the fathier paused, giving a small whinny. “Din!” he yelled again, dismounting with Cara in tow.

Din was feeling a little worse for wear. His head was simultaneously pounding and spinning, his side and leg were hurting, and he felt his vision blurring and blackening in waves. He moaned quietly in pain. Somewhere, he registered footsteps running up to him and felt a hand on his arm.

“He’s alive!” Cabell’s voice called from somewhere to his left before letting out a sigh of relief. “Hang in there, Din, I’m going to get my mom. Come on, Cara,” he took her hand and led her back toward the fathier.

“No…” Din groaned. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered weakly. Cabell regarded Din with a conflicted expression.  
  


“Cara, stay with Din. I’ll go get mom,” Cabell instructed her after a few moments in thought, mounting his Lola and roping Shevi, as well, before riding through the woods towards his home.

“Don’t leave me,” Din whimpered again, unaware of Cara’s presence or what Cabell had said to her, his ears ringing now. She tapped his shoulder in a calming manner.

“I stay,” she spoke decisively. He glanced to his left and saw Cara kneeling in the dirt, one hand on her lap, the other, he supposed, on his shoulder.

“Hi, Cara,” he mumbled.

“You ok, Din?” She asked, putting her little face inches from his.

“Yeah, Cara, I’m fine,” he assured her, grimacing in pain. He didn’t feel fine, but there was no need to worry her.

“You hurt, Din,” she stated. _Can’t even fool a three-year-old, huh?_

“Yeah, I know, Cara,” he sighed weakly, closing his eyes as the world blurred around him.

“My mammina is coming,” she continued to pat his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him.

“I know, Cara,” he repeated, even softer, his eyes closing. Rest…he needed rest...

“Din? Din! Wake up, Din!” a high-pitched voice shrieked as he felt a hand slap his face.

“I’m awake Cara. Ouch!” He yelped.

“Sorry!” She withdrew her hands immediately and scooted away from him, her eyes fearful.

“It’s ok, Cara. Stay here, ok?” he reached out weakly for her hand. She scooted closer, slowly, before taking his hand timidly. He felt another hand on his face, guiding him to look at her.

“I’m not leaving you,” she promised, her dark eyes staring into his, shining with determination, her brow furrowed and her little lips pursed together tautly.

“I know, Cara,” he offered a feeble smile. Her little face, full of unwavering loyalty, was somehow comforting to him.

Just then, he and Cara heard the sound of hooves and voices in the distance, gradually increasing in volume.

“Oh, thank the heavens!” a voice he recognized as Siriana Dune’s called out in relief a few moments later. His mother’s voice soon joined hers.

“Din! ¿Te dueles? ¿Estás bien?” Din smiled and the tension left his shoulders.

“Sí…” he whispered hoarsely before everything faded into blackness once more.

When Din awakened he was in the guest bedroom with his mother sitting next to him. His eyes opened very slowly and he groaned as he tried to sit up. “Sh sh sh, it’s ok Dinito,” his mother grabbed him immediately, easing him back to a laying position.

“What happened?” he asked, finding his mother’s eyes. She knelt next to him and took his hand.

“You had an accident yesterday, querido,” she explained softly, using her other hand to run her fingers through his stubborn curls soothingly.

“I see,” he glanced down at his bandaged leg and smoothed one hand over his bandaged torso. He remembered bits and pieces of what happened- his body careening to one side, Cabell’s panicked visage as he ran for help, Cara’s tiny face scrunched up as she promised she would stay…

“Din!” A little voice called. Din turned his head to the doorway to see little Cara, a wide grin splitting her dimpled face. “You awake!” She ran to his side and put her hands on his bed, jumping up and down with excitement.

“Shhh, Carasynthia, he just woke up,” Din’s mother walked around to gently pull the little girl away from the bed. A few moments later, Siriana appeared in the doorway with Cabell, his face full of shame and regret.

“Din,” she spoke softly as she shepherded Cara out the door, “How are you feeling?” She began to examine his bandages.

“I’m ok,” he responded honestly, “But it still hurts.”

“It’s going to hurt for a while,” his mother’s voice informed him in her “healer voice” from the other side of the bed. “You fractured your leg, have numerous cuts and bruises on your arms and torso, and have a small gash in your side. Lucky for you Mrs. Dune stitched you up, thank the stars.” She reached across to squeeze her friend’s hand appreciatively.

“Don’t forget that bump on your head. And no need to thank me. It’s nothing your mother couldn’t have done herself,” she blushed, “It’s what we studied and worked all those hours for, am I right, Ceci?”

Din’s mother chuckled lowly, “Indeed.”

“Din, I want to apologize for Cabell’s actions. He has been punished accordingly,” she spoke with that no-nonsense tone Din had heard when he first met her. Din didn’t bother asking any more questions. If Mrs. Dune was anything like his mother, he knew a chancla may or may not have been involved in this punishment.

“I’m really sorry, Din,” Cabell apologized, his voice heavy with regret. Din had no doubts that Cabell was sorry. But it wasn’t entirely his fault.

“Aw, Cabell, I’m the one that lost my footing, right? I tried to make it into a race. I’m sorry, too.”

“Well, no more of that from you two,” Siriana scolded, her voice only a measure short of becoming angry.

“Yes, no more of that!” Cecilia concurred, her voice equally stern.

“Yes ma’am,” Din and Cabell responded simultaneously to their respective mothers before giving each other a sheepish grin of understanding.

A few weeks later it was time for Din and his mother to leave. Din was able to walk around with the aid of a crutch. After the families took a holo-picture to commemorate the visit, Din and his mother loaded up the speeder with their belongings as Mr. Dune prepared to take them to the space port for their journey home.

Cecilia and Siriana embraced each other for such a long time, one would think they would never see each other again. With all that was going on in the galaxy, both the women knew this was a possibility. “I will miss you, dear friend,” Cecilia broke the embrace to rest her hand her friend’s tear-stained cheek.

“And I, you,” Siriana rested her hand on Cecilia’s opposite cheek, also wet with fresh tears. Cabell and Din rolled their eyes at their mothers’ affectionate behavior.

“Take care of yourself,” Cabell nodded to Din.

“You, too,” Din responded. Carlo gave Din a light hug, one that Din responded to with a ruffling of his short, dark, hair. Carlo let out a small giggle.

“DIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!” A voice from behind Cabell cried and Cara dramatically threw herself at Din, wrapping her arms around his waist. It was all Din could do not to fall over.

“Una fuerza de natura,” he heard his mother mutter as Cara continually sobbed,

“Non lasciarmi! Non lasciarmi! Non lasciarmi! Non-“

“Carasynthia!” Siriana plucked her up off Din’s waist and hoisted her to her hip. “That is quite enough of that! Wave goodbye to Din. He has to leave now.”

“But I don’t want him to go, mammina!” Cara buried her face in Siriana’s neck, much like she had done with her father when she and Din had first met.

“But he has to go back to his home, figlia mia,” her mother swept her hair away from her eyes comfortingly. Din offered a small smile as he hobbled over, reaching out to tickle her side. She giggled, flailing her little arms, nearly kicking her mother’s stomach.

“I’ll see you later, Cara. Thanks for staying with me. Take care of your brothers, ok?” He winked.

“Ok,” the determined look from the forest was back and she gave a curt nod before that dimpled smile graced her face again. “Ciao!” she waved.

“Ciao to you all, too!” Din waved to her and her family as he got into the speeder, watching the waving family get smaller and smaller, only turning to face forward when he could no longer see them.

A week later, Din and his mother returned to their home and were greeted by the smiling face of Din’s father. Din was so relieved to be home and to see his father’s face again. As they got closer, they saw Darin’s smile turn into a questioning look at the sight of Din hobbling toward him. “Cecilia, ¿que pasó con nuestro niño?”

“I will let Din tell you,” Cecilia grinned widely, patting Din on the arm lightly. His amused eyes turned to Din.

“Well Papi, it’s kind of a long story…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Two down, so many more to go. Thanks for reading! There is more to come, so stay tuned!


	3. Hope in our Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten years later, 13-year-old Cara and her family remember the Djarins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I'm back! I was so inspired by the love you all have shown me that I cranked this chapter out today. I hope you enjoy it! Also, I'm upping the rating to T as Cara's colorful language develops. ;) 
> 
> You'll find the Cara has a lot of nicknames in this chapter with her name in them. It's more or less a play on words, since Cara means "dear" in Italian. 
> 
> Translations:  
> Ridammelo!- Give it to me!  
> Piccola stronza- little bitch  
> Cara-forza (nickname)- dear-strength  
> Mamma- Mom/Mother  
> fiorellino- little flower  
> Cara mia- My Cara/my dear  
> Salute- Cheers  
> La speranza e l'ultima a morire- Hope is the last thing to die. 
> 
> Song translation:  
> Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor- Sleep my child, Sleep my love
> 
> duérmete pedazo de mi corazón.- Sleep piece of my heart
> 
> Este niño mío que nació de noche- This child of mine who was born at night
> 
> quiere que lo lleve a pasear en coche.- wants me to take him on a stroller ride
> 
> Este niño mío que nació de día- This child of mine who was born in the day
> 
> quiere que lo lleve a la dulcería.- wants me to take him to the candy shop
> 
> Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor- Sleep my child, sleep my love
> 
> duérmete pedazo de mi corazón. - Sleep piece of my heart.

_10 years later_

**Cara Dune**

“Carlo, give it back!” Cara Dune jumped up, trying to grab her datapad from her brother Carlo, who held it above his head out of 13-year-old Cara’s reach with one hand while pushing her away with the other.

“Why? Is there something you don’t want me to see?” he taunted, turning it on.

“That’s my diary, Carlo! Ridammelo!” Cara fussed, swatting his hand away, still trying to reach for her property in vain. Her brother Carlo at age 15 was six feet tall and there was no way Cara’s five-foot frame would ever reach it.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” he smirked as he began to read the entry she had been working on when her brother snatched it from her. “Ooo, you like Pander Jenson?” He teased, elevating his voice. Cara’s lightly freckled cheeks turned a tinted pink.

“Carlo, I am going to kick your skinny, annoying, ass!” Cara shouted as she attempted to use her height to her advantage by kneeing him in the family jewels. Unfortunately, he still had her at a distance and she missed her target.

“Hey, mamma!” Carlo called in a sing-song voice, “Guess who Cara wants to kiss?”  
  
“GIVE. IT. BACK!” she yelled, finally deciding to dive her shoulder under his arm and into his stomach while he was distracted. She hit her mark and her brother fell with an “oof”, the datapad falling from his hands.

“Ugh,” her brother groaned, “Piccola stronza,” he muttered under his breath. Cara kicked his side for that comment before picking up her datapad.

“Hey!” a deep voice hollered from upstairs. Heavy footsteps clambered down the stairs as Cabell Dune surveyed the scene before him: Cara held her datapad triumphantly while Carlo slowly sat up from the floor. “What are you two doing, _now_?”

“He stole my datapad!” Cara pointed to Carlo.

“Take a joke, Cara!” Carlo threw his hands up in mock surrender before adding, albeit reluctantly as he stood up, “You’re getting better at this.”

“Hell yeah I am,” she folded her arms across her chest smugly. 

Cabell mentally sighed. _These two…_ Cabell was getting ready to leave for the university in Alderaan’s capital city of Aldera the next day to study political science and he just wanted one peaceful day before leaving. His siblings were determined not let that happen, though, clearly. “Can you two please _try_ and get along while I’m gone?” Cabell pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Cara’s face softened as she strolled to her oldest brother, arms outstretched. He enveloped her in a large hug, “I’ll try,” Cara promised before stepping back, “but I make no promises.” Cabell looked at his youngest sibling and only sister for a moment. She was no longer his baby sister anymore, but a budding young woman. Her dark hair was woven into a braid that started from the middle of her forehead and extended down her back, though a few defiant wisps escaped and rested on her brow. Her olive complexion was dotted with a few light freckles, evidence of her life as a farmer’s daughter and the hard work it involved. Only her chocolate-colored eyes remained the same. She was not a willowy young teen but solidly built due to years of farm chores and martial arts training, though she was beginning to develop a womanly figure. Cabell had a feeling that Carlo was soon going to have to start beating up young men who would inevitably pine after her. No; she was not little anymore. But she was still a child, and her eyes reflected not only the beauty of a young woman but the innocence of a child. Cabell knew that would change, eventually.

“Well, someone has to keep Carlo in line,” he joked, pulling a loose strand of her hair that escaped her braid. She slapped his hand away, but she was smiling.

“I will,” she hugged him again (as Carlo protested this statement behind her), but didn’t pull away this time. “Do you really have to go tomorrow?” she asked sadly.

“Yeah, Cara-forza,” he pat her head lightly, “I have to go.”

Cara let out a breath as she stepped back from her brother’s embrace, “Mamma is sad you are leaving,” she looked away.

“I know.”

“Have you spoken to her today?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You need to,” Cara reminded him. Today wasn’t just the day before Cabell’s departure to college, but it was the 10th anniversary of the death of her beloved friend, Cecilia. Shortly after Cecilia and Din’s departure, rumors began to spread about attacks on that planet by Separatists. Mrs. Dune had attempted to contact her friend with little success. She spent days and days seeking out information from her various galactic connections until one day, she received a holo-message from one of them. This holo-message contained a list of the confirmed dead with the date of the attack at the top. Cecilia and Darin Djarin were on that list. Din Djarin was on the list of missing persons, but Cabell knew that that just meant they couldn’t find or identify his body. When she had received that list, Cabell remembered his mother letting out a cry of anguish and pain that he had never heard before as she dropped to her knees. She was inconsolable for days. Cabell himself felt a great wave of sadness at the loss of his friend.

Every year, the family honored the memory of the Djarin family with a candlelight vigil in his mother’s garden as they shared memories of the family before singing a song-a lullaby that his mother had sung to them since they were babies- in the Djarin family’s native tongue. Every year on this day, his mother’s demeanor was solemn and he almost never approached her. Today was doubly sad.

His mother disapproved of his desire to study politics, her fear of the Empire and its power strong. The fact that he was leaving one day after the anniversary of her friend’s death at the hands of the (almost) Empire added to her low mood.

Cara could not remember anything of the Djarins, but she knew that her family felt their loss deeply. Every year, mother would get out a holo-picture of her and Cara’s father holding Cabell standing with the Djarin family holding little Din. The two women were laughing with each other in the picture for reasons her mother couldn’t remember. To her mother, it reflected their friendship perfectly. She would set up a mini-memorial in her garden with the picture at the center of it. There were other pictures of her friend that stayed in a box labeled “Cecilia”, and her mother would pour through them every year on this day. To Cara, it might as well have been a planetary holiday, because she remembered honoring this day for as long as she could remember.

She really wished Cabell would go talk to her mother, given that he was leaving soon. Her mother was scared, that she knew. Her oldest child would be leaving home, and to study politics at the University of Aldera, no less, known best as the university that specialized in churning out politicians that served the royal family or the Empire. Cara didn’t like to admit it to herself, but she wasn’t a fan of Cabell leaving, either. She knew that Cabell wanted to do something other than farm, and that Carlo was much more suited for taking over the duties of a farmer than him, but he was her oldest brother and her biggest advocate and she wanted him to stick around.

For example, it had been Cabell that recommended his sister study martial arts when she expressed an interest in it at age ten. He argued that she should learn to defend herself. His mother had been against the idea, preferring her daughter to study art or dancing. But Cabell had reminded her that it was called martial _arts_ for a reason, and she had relented. Cara felt more herself than ever when she was in her mixed martial arts class, and she had already won a few tournaments in her age group. Her master told her she had great potential in this area. Her father and brothers had all told her the same on more than one occasion. Her mother supported her, she knew, but she also knew how much she wanted to have a _girly_ daughter. Cara just wasn’t girly, but she obliged her mother and attended classes on occasion in areas like music and dancing. She didn’t _hate_ it, but her heart and her mind were always elsewhere, either sitting and writing in her datapad, sketching in her sketchbook, or fighting in the ring.

One interest that she _did_ share in common with her mother was her love of science and human anatomy. She loved studying it in school and occasionally would accompany her mother on her home visits as a healer. She loved watching her mother care for others and she wanted to do the same when she grew up. On her most recent home visit her mother had helped deliver a baby. It was simultaneously the grossest and most beautiful thing she had ever witnessed. Cara cringed just thinking about the gross aspect of it. _I am never having kids_ , she had decided then and there. _Ever._ Even so, watching how her mother interacted with others and how they interacted with her was inspiring to her. _Speaking of which_ , Cara wondered, _where is she?_

She walked around the house before eventually setting out towards the garden out back. There, she found her mother, tending to the flowers, a basket set aside for the ones that were ready to be picked and sold. She opened the gate and closed it lightly. Her mother turned toward the sound, “Ah, Cara mia, come, help me with these,” she smiled lovingly, though the smile did not reach her eyes.

Obediently, Cara kneeled next to her mother, who was wearing a wide-brimmed hat that protected her face from the harshness of the summer sun. Cara herself squinted and used her hand to shade her eyes. Her mother’s sleeves were rolled up and her tan arms were covered in soil. Cara rolled her sleeves up and grabbed the basket as her mother placed two new flame lilies inside. She began to rummage through the planted lilies, looking for ones in full bloom. They worked in silence for a few minutes before her mother spoke again, “What brings you out here this afternoon? I thought you had some homework to finish.”

“I finished it,” Cara informed her, “So I thought I would come check on you.” 

Her mother paused momentarily before continuing her work, “I am fine, dear,” she spoke softly, but Cara could hear the pain in her voice. A few more moments passed before Cara spoke again.

“I wish I could remember them,” Cara began, her voice barely a whisper as she placed two more lilies in the basket, “I hate that I’m the only one who doesn’t.” Her mother stopped her work altogether with a sigh as she turned her body to her daughter, taking her now-filthy hands in her own.

“I know you do, fiorellino mio, but you honor their memory by helping us remember them every year,” her mother was stroking her hands with her thumbs assuringly as she said this, “And you honor Cecilia and Din by pursuing your dreams and desires and working hard for them.”

“I know, but it’s still unfair,” Cara frowned, clenching her fists. Cara’s mother pulled her to her shoulder with a shaky breath.

“I know,” she agreed softly. A few minutes passed as the two held each other in silent mourning. “So,” her mother released her with a soft smile, her eyes taking on a mischievous glint, “Pander Jenson, huh?”

“ _Mamma!_ ” Cara cried, covering her face instantly in embarrassment. Her mother just laughed.

“Oh, my dear, it is perfectly normal to have interests in others at your age. I did, too, you know. It’s all a part of growing up.”

“I’m going to kill Carlo,” Cara mumbled, pulling on one particularly stubborn flower a little harder than necessary.

Her mother tsked, “You will do no such thing. Come here,” she turned her daughter’s body to face hers once more.

“I hate boys sometimes,” Cara grumbled again as she looked down at her hands. Her mother began to take some of the smaller flowers to her right and weave them into a crown. Cara absentmindedly did the same.

“I do, too,” her mother chuckled lightly, “But they have their merits at times.”

“I mean, Pander doesn’t even notice I exist. I don’t know why I like him, honestly.”

“Cara, such feelings aren’t _meant_ to make sense. Love is almost never logical. Take your father and I, for instance. He is soft-spoken and calm but full of quiet strength. When he speaks, people listen. Cabell takes after him in this way. You, my stubborn little principessa, are too much like me. We do not back down from challenges and we do not hesitate to speak our minds. Your father and I met in school and, although we were opposites, I liked him. I cannot explain why or how but it just… _happened._ We fell in love and, in spite of our differences, we make it work. We complement each other. You will know when you’ve met the right person not just by how you feel around them, but by how hard you _both_ work on your relationship. You’ll know when, even on your worst days, they look at you as if you hung the stars yourself. And you will look at them that way, too,” she finished, placing the now-finished crown of flowers gently on Cara’s head, “But you are young, Carasynthia,” she continued, “You will have plenty of time to find the right one. And when you do,” she placed a hand on her cheek, “We will love them, too.”

Cara leaned into her mother’s hand with a soft smile. Even on days such as this anniversary of her friend’s death, her mother’s words were full of wisdom and truth.

Later that evening, Cara and her family gathered in the garden for the ceremony in their black dress clothes. She still wore the crown on her head, however, as she and her family knelt around the mini-memorial her mother had created. The picture was lit up and a wreath of lilies and roses surrounded it. Each person went around and shared their favorite memory of the family. Her father went first.

“On this, the 10th anniversary of their deaths, I recall my fondest memories of the Djarin family. My favorite memory was when I first met them. Your mother and I had just been engaged and they had just been engaged, as well. We visited them in their little hometown and, even though Darin and I had just met, we connected with each other really well. I have great memories of conversations, games he purposely cheated on,” her mother guffawed loudly. Her father gave her a wink and continued, “And nights drinking tonaray as we talked about nothing and everything. I loved Cecilia, too, and when we all shared our dreams for the future, I remember how hopeful we were. I still carry that hope with me. And to the memory of our friendship, I drink to you. Salute,” her father raised his glass of tonaray as did her mother and Cabell, and the three took a sip together. He placed his candle next to the wreath to the right of the photo.

“My fondest memories were from the last time I saw Cecilia. We talked about our husbands and our children, we gardened together as we reminisced about times spent with the two of us and about times spent with our husbands and growing families. I recall her saying how happy she was to see me living the life of my dreams with my husband and my family, and we shared a hope for the future, even though we both knew the future was enshrouded in darkness,” her mother paused to wipe a few tears away, “I wonder what she would be doing now. I know she had high hopes for her son, Din. To lose her and her husband was a tragedy, but to lose Din,” her voice choked and she let out a small sob before continuing, “To lose Din, who had just begun his life…” her mother began to cry. Palindo Dune placed an arm around his wife’s shoulders comfortingly. Cara looked down. She hated seeing her mother cry. Her fists clenched as she thought about the fact that this tragedy was not the only tragedy of a needless war and a malevolent Empire. There were thousands upon thousands of families like hers grieving the loss of life and the loss of innocence due to this war and this Empire.

Cabell spoke then, as his mother collected herself, “I have very few memories of the Djarin family, but Din and I shared some fun times together when they last visited. We shared a lot of common interests and I will never forget when I got him into trouble. I insisted we break the rules and ride our fathiers into woods, even when Mamma specifically said to stay in the corral. Din fell off his fathier and got hurt. I remember the panic when I saw how hurt he was. I knew that I was absolutely in for it when our moms found out. I remember that, to add to that, I had brought Cara along as party to all this mischief. But Cara, for once, listened when I told her to stay with him,” Cara nudged him lightly in the side. He nudged her back before continuing, “And when our mothers found Din, I felt such a simultaneous sense of relief and fear. Sure enough, I was punished accordingly, but I will never forget when Din told me later, ‘We’ll have to try that again next time I come. Maybe I’ll actually stay on the fathier.’” The whole family laughed at the story. Cara had heard it told by Cabell every year, but it never seemed to get old. She really wished she could remember this. He, too, placed his candle down behind the picture.

“Yes, Cara was holding his hand when we found her. Che carino! Her first little crush,” Siriana Dune recalled sweetly.

“ _Mamma_ …” Cara was covering her reddening face again.

“I remember when this happened, too,” Carlo added, “And I remember that he still played with us by kicking the ball with his crutches. He never let anything stop him.” Carlo placed his candle to the left of Cabell’s.

There was a pause as everyone smiled softly at the memory. Cara never spoke at the memorial they held. How could she? She didn’t remember this family. But she felt, for the first time, like she needed to speak.

“It is true what they say,” she spoke hesitantly. All eyes turned to her in surprise, “’La speranza e l'ultima a morire.’ Din and his mother always had hope for the future, it sounds like. They may have died, but I pray we never let their hopes die in our hearts. May we live each day to the fullest in their stead.” She placed her candle to the left of the Carlo’s.

“To keeping hope alive,” Cabell lifted his glass with a nod to Cara, “I will certainly work and live to keep their hopes alive. I promise.”

“Salute,” her mother raised her glass again along with her father and her oldest brother, her eyes full of love as she gazed upon her son and her other children. She placed her candle to the left of the picture. The glow of the candles cast a soft light upon the photo. “Now we will sing the lullaby Cecilia taught me while we were still students. She sang this to every newborn she delivered and every child who came to the clinic. She had a way with children, and I admired that. She taught me the song, and I have sung it to the babies and children I have taken care of as well as to you all. I will never forget it.” Her father grabbed the guitar from behind him and the family lifted their voices in song.

“Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor

duérmete pedazo de mi corazón.

Este niño mío que nació de noche

quiere que lo lleve a pasear en coche.

Este niño mío que nació de día

quiere que lo lleve a la dulcería.

Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor

duérmete pedazo de mi corazón.”

The words were foreign to Cara’s tongue, but she knew this song by heart now. They ended the night by blowing out the candles and walking, hand in hand back to the house.

Cara disliked this day most of the time, but for some reason, this year was different. This year, a spark of hope was lit in her heart as she thought of the future. She no longer felt worried for her brother. She knew he held this spark, as well.

The next day, when they made the trip to Aldera to drop Cabell off, Cara knew that Cabell was doing the right thing to keep hope alive in the galaxy. One day, she would do the same- well, not exactly the same- but she would do her part to keep hope alive. She just wasn’t sure what that would look like just yet. But she knew her time was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap! Love you all. :)


	4. This is the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we look a Din Djarin and his life as an 18-year-old as he takes his oath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I've been struggling a lot with how to portray angsty teen Din (Cara comes easier, I guess), so I hope I did decently! 
> 
> In this chapter, we see Din and clan use Mando'a. Here are the translations  
> Aliit ori’shya tal’din- Family is more than blood  
> vod’ika- little/baby brother  
> vod- brother  
> ner vod- my brother  
> Vor entye- Thank you  
> Haat, Ijaa, Haa’it- Truth, Honor, Vision  
> buir- father  
> Verd- warrior   
> Dar’manda- not Mandalorian; ultimate dishonor for a Mandalorian 
> 
> I made up the vows, so if anyone has any more Mandalorian expertise to offer, let me know!

_10 years later_

**Din Djarin**

Din’s heart was pounding violently and his stomach was tied in ridiculous knots. He sat on his small bed in his small room in his clan’s compound and stared aimlessly into the visor of his helmet. He could see his distorted reflection and for a second, he felt pleased. He had cleaned and shined this helmet (and the armor he was wearing) for hours and hours after he had completed the tests necessary to become a full-fledged Mandalorian. He had more than a few scratches from those tests, which involved quite a bit of sparring, but after the tests were over, he had been informed that he had passed. The ceremony was today-in just under an hour actually.

For some reason, though, he felt nervous. He had proven himself worthy to his clan and could now take the oath of a Mandalorian. So why was he so terrified? Was it the thought of never showing his face to another living being again? Was it the fact that with this title the responsibility of upholding his clan’s values and honor fell on his shoulders as it had on the shoulders of those who had gone before him?

Yeah, no reason to be nervous at all.

Din had struggled with his identity within his clan for the last ten years. He was not a native to Mandalore and had not been born into this culture. He was a foundling, and, as he had heard several times, “Foundlings are the future.” He never truly felt as though he fit in, though- most foundlings felt that way, he knew.

That’s not to say he wasn’t grateful for this family. They had rescued him from certain death ten years ago when Separatist droids attacked his planet. His parents had sacrificed their lives to protect him, and the Mandalorians had rescued him and taken them in. The day was so ingrained in his memory, he could still smell the ash from the fires and the smell of burning, decaying flesh. He could feel his father’s arms around him as they ran from their home and his mother's kiss on his cheek. He could hear his parents’ voices as they told him to stay hidden.

Regretfully, Din was starting to forget what they sounded like. He could remember the words they spoke, but he had all but forgotten the sound of their voices. Even their faces were a blur in his memory. Much of his life before this attack was a blur to him. He wasn’t sure if it was because he worked really hard to suppress these memories or if it was just the natural effects of the passing of time. He let out a long, shaky sigh, allowing grief to dwell in his body for just a moment before shaking his head. It was no use dwelling on his past. This was his life now. He had a new family (though his adoptive father, his buir, had passed on in a bounty delivery gone wrong a few years back) and a new purpose. He had mastered the language, learned and adapted to all of their ways, and had worked hard and sacrificed much to become worthy of the title about to be bestowed upon him. Besides, as he had learned during the last ten years, “ _Aliit ori’shya tal’din”_ or, “Family is more than bloodline.”

He walked to the bathroom one last time to check his reflection. At 18 years old, his light brown hair was still curly, but unevenly so (and it drove him nuts trying to arrange it in the mornings). He was starting to grow facial hair, but it was patchy in places. His eyes, still a sable brown, were no longer the eyes of a young child with two parents and a loving home, but the eyes of a haunted young man who had seen war and death.

There was a knock on his door. He shoved his curls away from his forehead frustratingly one last time before walking to the door and opening it.

“Ah, vod’ika!” A young man in full armor exclaimed, standing before Din, arms outstretched. He enveloped Din in a hug, “Are you ready for the ceremony?”

“Of course,” Din pulled back, giving his friend a light punch on the shoulder. Kavin Orst had been one of the first friends he had made when he first came to the covert. Kavin was five years older than he and a foundling, like himself, and he had more or less taken Din under his wing.

“Let me get a good look at that mug of yours,” he said, his helmet tilting as he examined his friend, “Damn, Djarin, what is that animal growing on your face?” he chuckled. Din could only imagine the face he was making as he said this.

“Shut up,” Din muttered as he covered the lower half of his face self-consciously. _Maybe I should shave after all,_ he mused as he walked back to the bathroom and looked in the mirror for what felt like the 50th time that day. He was turning vain, he knew. _This shouldn’t even matter to me right now._

“Relax, Din, it won’t matter after today, anyways,” Kavin spoke from behind him, echoing his own thoughts, “I just wanted to get one last good look at you,” he slapped a hand on Din’s shoulders and turned his face to the mirror before adding, “I am very proud of you, vod’ika. You will make a great verd.”

“Vor entye, Kavin,” Din sighed as he removed his hand from his face, “I hope I prove myself worthy.”

“You already have, Din,” Kavin gave his back a hearty slap before turning around, “Now come on, we wouldn’t want you to be late for your own party, would we?”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Din agreed as he picked up his helmet from the bed, walking out of the door with his friend. The heart-pounding had resumed to the degree that Din felt as if it would burst through his armor. His ears were even ringing from the sound and he began to take calm, even, breaths in an effort to still his mind and calm his heart. He followed Kavin to the great room where his ceremony would be held. As he passed his brothers and sisters, he could hear their voices cheering him on and congratulating him. He entered the hall with Kavin by his side. He offered one last pat on the back and a hearty, “Oya!” before taking his seat with the other Mandalorians.

He made his way unhurriedly to the front of the room to his own seat. He hoped that no one could see how much he was shaking. He sat down slowly with a deep breath. His thoughts began to race as he reviewed the ceremony in his mind, practicing his oath under his breath _just to be sure._ He had practiced it at least 100 times in the last few days, but one could never be too prepared. A few minutes later, a voice boomed from the back of the room, “All rise!” The sound of several Mandalorians in full armor standing up echoed around the large room and off the rafters of its vaulted ceilings. He rose with them and turned to the back. The clan leader walked almost regally down the middle of the room, the elders following her dutifully in single file. She reached the front and stood in her place in front of her throne, the elders finding their own places on either side of her. “You may be seated,” she spoke over the crowd, her voice full and authoritative. Din could feel her eyes on him as everyone sat. “Din Djarin,” she began, “Rise, and kneel before your leaders.”

Din immediately stood and walked before her, immediately kneeling and bowing his head reverently. “Din Djarin, you are here today to take your oath to become a true Mandalorian. Today you pledge your life and loyalty to our clan and our code of Haat, Ijaa, Haa’it, and accept the responsibilities that accompany it. You have proven yourself worthy of this title in every way and today, you renounce your title as foundling and child and take on the mantle of a man. Stand and place your helmet upon your head and repeat after me.”

Din stood slowly, his legs trembling. He placed his helmet upon his head and squared his shoulders, placing his hands behind his back to hide the shaking.

“I, Din Djarin,” she began in her commanding voice.

“I, Din Djarin,” he repeated, his voice wavering imperceptibly.

“Do solemnly swear,”

“Do solemnly swear,”

“To uphold the code of our clan and its values,”

“To uphold the code of our clan and its values,”

“From this day forth,”

“From this day forth,”

“As long as I have breath.”

“As long as I have breath.”

“I will live with honor,”

“I will live with honor,”

“And never reveal my face to another living being,”

“And never reveal my face to another living being,”

“No matter what the cost.”

“No matter what the cost.”

“This is the way.”

“This is the way,” Din repeated, along with every Mandalorian in the room. He let out a silent sigh of relief. It was done.

“Now, turn and face your brothers and sisters,” the leader commanded. He turned obediently, “I give you, Din Djarin, Mandalorian.” Applause and cheers sounded from around the room, and Din smiled under his helmet. He was one of them now. Finally, he was a man.

After the ceremony, he was approached by several of his brothers and sisters to shake hands and offer their congratulations. He found Kavin in the crowd, waving his hands wildly.

“Heyyy vod’ika, you did well!” He slapped him on the back again.

“Kavin, you’ve got to stop doing that or I will have a permanent bruise there,” Din commented, his tone light with mirth as he rolled his shoulders in mock pain.

“Sorry, vod’ika, I can’t help it. It’s what I do,” Kavin threw his arms up and shrugged.

“Ok, well maybe you can at least stop calling me vod’ika, then. We’re equals now,” Din knocked on Kavin’s helmet for emphasis.

“Fine, fine, fine…vod…” Kavin sighed so loudly Din could hear it through his own helmet, “But,” he held up a finger to Din’s face, “You’ll never stop being my little brother to me. So if I slip up, don’t kill me, eh?”

“Don’t slip up, then,” Din grinned, and then, realizing Kavin couldn’t see him, nudged his arm.

“Hey, brother, I really am happy for you, you know. You’ve come a long way,” Kavin spoke seriously now as the two made their way towards the nearby town, “Come on, let’s grab some food. My treat.”

“Sounds good,” Din agreed before he realized something, “I can’t eat in front of you anymore, huh?”

“Nope. Too bad, eh?” Kavin touched the top of Din’s helmet and gave it a shake.

“We can just eat back to back, right?” Din wondered aloud.

“Sure. We’ll bring the food back to my place. It’s bigger.”

“Lucky,” Din grumbled.

“Hey, ner vod, bring in some good bounties, and maybe you’ll have a big place, too,” Kavin wrapped his arm around Din’s shoulders and dragged him close. The two made their way side by side to their favorite place and, true to his word, Kavin paid for their meals. The two walked and talked merrily before arriving back at Kavin’s small apartment. It was nothing more than a bed and a couch with a mini-fridge and a stovetop, but it was more than what Din had at the moment. The two sat on the couch, back to back and pulled out their respective meals. He could hear Kavin removing his mask.

“Mm, this is the stuff!” Kavin exclaimed, “I kriffing _love_ nerfburgers.” After a few moments, Kavin realized that Din hadn’t moved. “Hey, vod’ika…I mean, vod…you can eat now, you know. I won’t look.”

Din removed his helmet, then, hesitantly, and then began to eat his own food. The two ate in contented silence until Din spoke, “Kavin?” he started with great reluctance.

“Yeah? What’s up, man?” Kavin responded in between bites.

“Do you ever get used to this?”

“Used to what?”

“You know…this whole _helmet_ thing?”

“You mean this whole ‘never showing my face’ thing?”

Din paused, “Yeah.”

“Well, it took some time to get used to, that’s for sure. Honestly, though, I knew what I was getting into when I took my oath and I stand by it. But I’ve found that it really hasn’t been a hindrance to me so far. We’ve both spent years watching our fathers and our brothers and sisters adapt to this life, so it hasn’t been a _huge_ change. Not for me, anyways. Besides, there’s still plenty of fun stuff you can do with the helmet on,” Kavin explained.

“What do you mean by ‘fun stuff’?”

“Din, my sweet, innocent vod’ika, I’m talking about sex,” Kavin spoke sweetly, as if talking to a small child.

Din immediately blushed under his armor, coughing his beer up violently, “Really, Kavin?” he groaned.

“What? You asked!” Din could feel Kavin shrug and laugh behind him.

“I’m not worried about…that…” Din began, “I’m worried about getting bested in battle and having my helmet removed. I don’t want to be dar’manda.”

Kavin let out a long breath, “Well, Din, I can’t promise you that won’t happen. We just have to fight like hell to make sure it doesn’t. You are more than capable of this.”

Another long silence. “I wonder sometimes what my parents would think of me,” Din pondered aloud, taking a long sip of the local brew, “Would they be proud I walked this path?”

Another heavy sigh from his friend, “Din, you really shouldn’t be dwelling on that. The past is in the past, remember? Granted, I was too young to remember my old family when I became a foundling, but one thing I know, is that thinking about the ‘could have’s and ‘maybes’ does absolutely nothing to change what’s already happened.”

“I know. Just a random thought,” Din shrugged, brushing the thought aside for the moment.

“I’ll always protect you, you know that right?” Kavin whispered, reaching behind him to take Din’s hand.

“Yeah, I know. And I will protect your dumb ass too, ner vod,” Din responded, his voice firm as he squeezed his friend’s hand.

That earned him a laugh, and the two went back to eating. Kavin was right. _This_ was his family now.

And he would _always_ be there for his family.

_Always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> Side note: I'm in a super good mood today because THE Gina Carano responded to a tweet I posted. Life made! <3


	5. Vita e Morte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara is 23 years old when her entire world falls apart. Literally. Lots of flashbacks in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The moment I've been dreading and waiting for at the same time. It is SO hard to write grief but I hope I did it justice, here. 
> 
> Edit: I did some editing. Hopefully it all makes a bit more sense now!
> 
> Translations:  
> Apetta un minute, fiorellino mio- Wait a minute, my little flower  
> Cara-forza- Cara strength or dear strength (a play on her name)  
> Mamma- Mom/Mama  
> mia bella - my beautiful  
> Sì- Yes  
> Cara mia- my dear/my Cara  
> Babbo- Papa/Father/Dad  
> Cos'è questo casino?- What is this mess?

**Cara Dune**

_Dantooine III_

_Rebel Training Camp_

Cara Dune was sore. So. Incredibly. Sore. Today she had finished the final test, a 48-hour-long test nicknamed “The Crucible” for how merciless it was to those who endured it. Her commanding officer had been pleased with her results, and she was excited to _finally_ join the ranks of the Rebel Shock Troopers. She practically had to peel her clothes off due to the sheer amount of sweat. She felt _gross._ Forty-eight hours without a shower was nasty enough, but add in the tasks of endurance, strength, and skill she had demonstrated during that period and the lack of sleep, and Cara was ready to vomit from her own stench (and the stench of her peers). She stepped into the fresher, which was miraculously warm. She let out a small groan of pleasure. _Finally,_ she thought.

“Don’t get pruney in there, Dune!” she heard a voice from the shower next to hers.

“Says the girl with 10 feet of hair and no tits,” she quipped back. Maris Benson, her fellow trainee, was more than a little vain about her luscious, brunette locks. But the two had struck up an unlikely friendship on day two of training when Maris took the blame for Cara’s mistake (her bed was not made properly; Maris said she had messed it up purposefully). All of them ended up doing 50 push-ups anyway, but it was the thought that counted.

“Shut up, Dune. At least I pull off a strapless dress without everything spilling out,” she retorted, her tone playful.

“Yeah, I bet all the boys you date like it when you _pull it off_ , ” Cara joked.

“Kriff you,” Maris grumbled. Cara just cackled evilly. It felt good to laugh, sometimes, even at the expense of her friend. Lately there had been very few reasons for Cara to smile, much less laugh.  
  


After a few minutes, Cara wrapped herself in a towel and stepped out of the shower with her change of clothes and toiletries in tow, making her way to the mirror and sinks in their communal washroom. She regarded herself for a moment. Even though she was clean, there were still huge bags under her dark eyes. She still had a few freckles on her face, but they were fading with time. She reached in her bag to grab her black bra and under shorts. She had no qualms about dropping the towel to change into her clothes. After the last few months of training, she no longer gave a single flying fuck about privacy. No one in her unit did, really. She examined her body in the mirror. She was tall, with a large muscular build. Her shoulders and arms were definitely fuller than the average woman's, as were her backside and thighs. But the subtle curve of her waist and her two larger-than-average breasts made it clear that she was, indeed, a woman. She had shaved her hair in mourning after…the event. It was slowly growing back, and, though she was almost ashamed to admit it, she liked the pixie cut. She smirked in the mirror, hands on hips almost defiantly before pulling on her black sweatpants.

“Looking good there, Dune,” a voice sounded to her left. Maris.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Benson,” Cara nudged her with her hips as she pulled her large t-shirt over her head and over her body. She shook the water out of her hair.

“Ugh, I wish I could look that good with short hair,” the dark-haired, fair-skinned girl groaned, “But I’d look like a boy. No tits and all,” she clarified with a wink of her emerald green eyes and a grin.

“Hey, I had long hair like yours, you know. Before…” Cara trailed off, a wave of sadness and grief hitting her suddenly.

“Yeah, I know,” Maris finished softly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulders. The two women stood silently for a minute before Maris spoke up, cheerily, “I’m sure your tattoo is going to look _super_ badass on your arm! We should _totally_ try and go at the same time tomorrow to get them.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Cara smiled, albeit a bit forcefully, and placed her hand on her friend’s. Maris’s soft smile met hers.

“I’ll catch up with you later, ok?” Maris pulled her hand away slowly before walking out of the bathroom.

“Sure thing,” Cara nodded. She looked back in the mirror again, trying to picture herself with a tattoo. _What would Mamma think?_ She thought automatically before remembering herself. Suddenly, it was all too much, and she stumbled out of the bathroom with her things. Her head was swirling, her chest was tight and she could barely focus on where she was going. She opened the door to the nearest cleaning closet and sank to the ground. The tears began to fall, unrelenting, as she remembered the last time she had seen her mother.

****

_2 months ago_

_Alderaan_

“Mamma, I’m ready!” she called up the stairs as she dropped the last of her bags by the front door. She brushed a few stray hairs off her forehead. These days, Cara was sporting a more adult look, with a large braid that started on her right temple and circled her head like a halo. It was the same hairstyle her mother sported, with some differences. As an “available” woman, her braid started on the right side of her head. When she had met someone she wanted to marry, her braid would start on the left.

“Apetta un minute, fiorellino mio!” her mother responded, using that childhood nickname Cara hated. At 23 years old, Cara was no longer a “little flower”, but she wasn’t about to tell her mother that. She hadn’t been the only one who had changed a lot over the last several years. Cabell had finished school and was working in the Alderaanian Parliament. He had married a young woman he had met at school named Daria a few years back and the two had a young son named Cam (who Cara was absolutely in love with). Carlo had taken on more chores with the farm and had recently married, himself. One day, he would take his father’s place as its owner.

After a few minutes of waiting, Cara, ever the impatient one, marched up the stairs to find out what exactly her mother was doing that prevented her from coming down the stairs. She found her mother standing by her bed, looking through a box of things that, Cara remembered, had been hiding in her closet for years. 

Siriana Dune’s dark brown hair had grayed a bit with time, but her regal features remained. “Mamma, what is taking so long?” Cara asked impatiently, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door frame.

“Oh, just making sure you grabbed everything, that's all," her mother responded absentmindedly, her focus on whatever was in her hand. 

“What are you looking at?” Cara inquired, leaning over to get a better look at the picture in her mamma’s hand. 

“Do you remember this picture?” Cara’s mom pulled out one holo-picture frame, pressing the button to turn it on. Cara decided to indulge her mother and glanced over at it. She noted that it was a family picture. Her father stood in the middle and her mother on his right. Her hand rested on his shoulder. Carlo and Cabell stood in front of them with equally cheeky grins. She noticed another woman standing next to her mother, hands on the shoulders of a little boy in front of her on crutches.

“The Djarins,” she recognized sadly.

“Yes,” her mother murmured, her expression solemn before her mouth turned up in a small smile, “But look at how cute you were. There you are, in front of Din.” She pointed to the small child standing in front of the boy, hands resting on his and a carefree smile on her face, “You adored him and you insisted this picture sit on your bedside table after they left. In fact, do you remember what you called the lullaby after Din and his mother left? ”

"What did I call it?" Cara asked, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

"You called it, 'The Din Song'," her mother chuckled. Cara shook her head, blushing a little at her own antics as a child. Her mother's laughter stilled, and they sat in silence for a few moments, remembering.

"I wish I could have known them. You know, after I got older...” Cara sighed wistfully, breaking the silence as she rested her head on her mother’s shoulders. It had been almost 20 years since the death of the Djarin family. Their family had faithfully continued the tradition of holding a yearly memorial.

“Oh, my child, I wish you had, too,” her mother’s voice was full of longing as she placed one hand on her daughter's head comfortingly, stroking her braid. A few moments passed in silence, “She would be proud of you, you know, as I am. Seeing you go out into the galaxy to do good, to follow in my footsteps and in hers…she would have loved that.” 

“I really hope so,” Cara whispered, her heart simultaneously full of appreciation for her mother’s words and also aching for her mother’s friend. Cara had pursued her interest in healing and had attended school for it. Now, her final semester was approaching, and that meant she would get hands-on experience on Dantooine, where a new healing center had been established to help refugees from war-torn planets.

She had already said her goodbyes to Carlo, who at the moment was tending to the fathiers. He had finally developed some muscles, though he was still a gangly young man. She could _absolutely_ still take him down in a fight (and had done so when he tried to get all mushy and sentimental. That must be why his wife Layla married him). Cabell had visited from Aldera a few days before with Daria and little Cam (who was pudgy but the cutest baby in the world, in her opinion), and had parted ways with her with a big hug and these words, “Go keep hope alive, Cara-forza.” She felt a pang in her heart. She already missed them all.

“Mamma?” she began hesitantly.

“Yes, mia bella?” 

“May I keep this one?” She pointed to the holo-photo her mother still held.

“Sì,” her mother answered, smiling fondly as she passed Cara the picture. Cara pushed the button on the holo-picture to turn it off before stuffing it in her jacket pocket. Her mother turned to leave, and she followed her outside to where her father had already packed the speeder with her stuff.

“Are you ready to go, Cara mia?” her father asked, one arm around her shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Yeah, I’m ready, Babbo,” she nodded.

“Well then, let’s get going,” he stepped away with a smile before climbing in next to her mother in the speeder. Already the two were fussing and bantering with each other the way they had done for as long as Cara could remember. Cara smiled, taking in the sight before her before turning to look at her house and the mountains one last time.

 _Here’s to keeping hope alive_ , she thought, taking a deep breath before turning back to the speeder and climbing in.

****

_Dantooine III_

_Rebel Training Camp_

Cara took a few more shuddering breaths. _Dead. All of them. Mamma. Babbo. Cabell. Daria. Cam. Carlo. Layla. All dead. Why am I still alive? Why am I here?_ The tears continued to pour as she recalled that fateful day.

***

_1 month ago_

_Dantooine_

Cara truly enjoyed being a healer. The refugees on Dantooine were in awful shape physically and mentally, but helping them, seeing their grateful faces as she gave them medicine or changed their bandages would give her true joy. She even sang the Djarin’s song to the little ones she encountered. It truly _did_ work to stave off a kid’s tears.

One day, however, she noticed a change in their countenances. The refugees were whispering amongst themselves worriedly as they waited at the medical center to be seen. Her fellow healers were especially tense, their eyes full of concern that they tried to hide from their patients. She also noticed that none of them spoke to her all day. _That’s weird_ , Cara thought as she finished her shift, removing her gloves and tossing them. _It’s not like my colleagues to avoid me like this._ She was just about to ask one of her colleagues about it when she heard her name.

“Carasynthia Dune,” A voice sounded from her com, “I need to see you in my office.” She recognized the voice as the head healer’s.

“On my way,” she responded. She found him standing there in front of his office with an absolutely devastated look on his face. Cara’s heart began to pound. Something was definitely wrong.

“Please step inside my office,” He stepped aside, gesturing behind him with one hand to the small room. A million frantic thoughts ran through Cara’s brain. _Did I mess up? What did I do wrong? Are they going to send me home?_

“Cara, have you been in contact with your family today?”

“No, but we spoke just last night…well…it was morning for them but…why?” Cara’s heart was thrumming loudly in her ears now.

He sighed, “There’s no easy way to tell you this, Cara, but…Alderaan…is gone.”

Cara froze. She must have misheard him. She shook her head, as if to clear her ears, “I’m sorry…what did you say?”

“The Empire utilized a new weapon on your planet. There were no survivors. I’m so so sorry,” his voice became grave and full of emotion as he sank into his seat.

Cara’s ears were ringing in time with her heartbeat, “No…no it’s not true!” she cried, “Tell me it’s not true!” She began to breathe heavily, her chest tightening with every breath as she stood up on shaky feet.

“I heard it from several galactic news channels. It is true.”

“No…no no no!” she wailed, holding her head in her hands as she dizzily turned toward the door, “No!” she cried once more before breaking off into a run, past her colleagues and past her patients and out the door, dashing blindly towards her hut. She threw herself down on her pillow, pulling herself into a fetal position and rocking back and forth, shaking her head as she plead, “No, no, no, no…” to the universe before eventually passing out from exhaustion.  
  


She awoke the next morning, still clutching her knees to her chest. Her mind was racing and she could barely breathe, much less move. She heaved with nausea as she replayed the last conversation she had had with her family in her head. The last time she saw them in person…the last hugs…the last kisses…

And Carasynthia Dune cried, sobbing breathlessly.

She spent the next couple of days in the same position, crying, vomiting, struggling to breathe, or staring off into space. Everything was a blur. Nothing felt real. She heard a knock at the door. It was one of her colleagues and friends, Meli. 

“Cara?” she heard the Rodarian speak softly. “Cara, I’m coming in now.” The door opened and Meli walked in, albeit cautiously, a tray of food in her hand. She sat down next to Cara, placing the tray in front of her. “Cara, you need to eat,” she reminded her gently.

“I’m not hungry,” Cara ground out.

“I know, Cara. But you need to take care of yourself.”

“I don’t care,” she grumbled, unmoving.

“We do,” Meli placed a hand on her knees, “We care about you, Cara. We want you to take all the time you need.”

“I can’t do this,” Cara began to tear up again, her voice tight with anguish.

“Not now, you can’t. But we are here for you and want you to take all the time you need to-“

“No, Meli. I can’t do _this_ ,” she sat up immediately, her voice hoarse from crying, gesturing to her medical pack. “I can’t possibly sit back helplessly doing nothing while...” she couldn’t even finish her sentence before a desperate sob broke loose.

“Saving lives and helping others isn’t doing nothing, Cara.”

Cara’s jaw was tense, her eyes full of rage as she suddenly turned to Meli and declared with certainty, “What’s the use? Every day there are going to be more and more refugees because of the Empire. I’m not doing this anymore, Meli. Not while the Empire slaughters innocent people.”

“Cara…” Meli started.

“No, Meli. I quit,” she threw her medical pack violently at the wall. It fell, landing on the floor with a loud thud. Cara continued staring straight ahead, and Meli knew she had made up her mind. _Good_ , she thought. _She will be_ perfect _for this._

“There…is another way…” Meli began. Cara’s eyes slowly turned towards hers, a look of anger mixed with subtle interest on her face.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well...um…My brother, Mal, is a part of the Rebel Alliance. He is a shock trooper. He contacted me recently to tell me that they are really running low on new recruits. Perhaps-“

“Where can I sign up?” Cara interrupted, a determined look replacing her anger.

“Well..truthfully…” Meli looked around the room nervously before lowering her voice even more, scooting closer to Cara, “What I told you is only partly accurate. My brother _is_ in the Alliance, and he _is_ a shock trooper. But _I’m_ a recruiter. That’s kind of why I offered to bring food to you. I knew you’d probably be wanting to do something after…this.” 

“You’re…a recruiter?” Cara repeated with some doubt.

“I am. I have been undercover, using my status as an Imperially recognized healer to recruit refugees for the cause,” she continued, “But you _must not_ tell anyone. I can’t have my cover blown,” she whispered, large blue eyes darting around the room nervously.

“Of course,” Cara assured her with a firm nod, “What do I have to do?”

“Well, I can _only_ give you coordinates to the training camp. You’re on your own from there,” Meli responded, scribbling some numbers down on a piece of paper before continuing, “Take the ship from the port in Dantoo. It’s only a couple hours from here. I’ll have my contact here take you there. Once you arrive, someone will approach you and say ‘it’s a sunny day, isn’t it?’ You will respond with, ‘I prefer the rain’. They will know you are part of the Alliance and take you to the training camp.”

“Got it,” Cara affirmed, taking the piece of paper from her friend and stuffing it in her pocket.

“Meet at the edge of the camp in two hours. I will go inform my contact that you will be waiting,” Meli stood then. Cara, still shaky, stood with her.

“Thank you, Meli,” she spoke quietly, taking her arm in hers in gratitude.

“You’re welcome. Please eat, for you will need your strength for training,” Meli advised, “And Cara?”

“Yeah?”

“May the Force be with you.” The Rodian gave a deep nod before turning and exiting the room.

“The Force? What is that?” Cara mumbled. Shaking her head of her musings, she turned to her pack. She would take her medical stuff with her, just in case. She placed the pack by the door and began to stuff her duffle with clothes. She wasn’t sure if she’d need them, but she figured it was good to be prepared. There were a lot of clothes on the floor, and she thought instantly of what her mother would say if she saw her room. _Cara mia,_ she would say, _Cos'è questo casino? Pick it up!_ Cara’s eyes filled with tears yet again but she brushed them away furiously. “Not the time, Cara,” she told herself, taking a few deep, shaky breaths before continuing to work.

After finishing most of her packing, she picked up her jacket and tossed it on top of the other packs. She heard a small clank when she did this and turned to its source. A holo-picture frame was on the floor, having presumably fallen from the jacket’s pocket. She picked it up reverently and turned it on briefly. An image filled the space of her family and the Djarin family. Her heart twisted violently in her chest and she fell to her knees, dropping the picture and grasping at her chest in pain. She had not been ready for this. _No,_ she told herself resolutely, _I_ have _to keep working. I will stop and mourn later._

She glanced at her chronometer. She had a whole hour before Meli’s contact would be there. She had a sudden idea. Grabbing her med pack, she removed some scissors and from her toiletry bag, a razor. She stepped into the tiny fresher connected to her hut and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was still up in a braid that wrapped around her head. Angrily, she realized that such traditions didn’t matter anymore. _Nothing matters anymore,_ she realized. Tears filled her eyes as she slowly took down her braid. Her hair extended to the middle of her back when she was done. She gathered her hair together in one hand and her scissors in the other. With only a small sob, she cut her hair from one ear to the other. She let the thick, raven locks fall unceremoniously from her hands. Not sparing that hair a second glance, she took a deep breath and continued her work, cutting her hair until she only had to use a razor. When she had finished, her hair was completely gone, with stubble in its place. She rubbed her hands over her head back and forth, repeatedly, almost in disbelief. She was no longer “Cara, fiorellino, the healer”, but “Cara, forza, the soldier”. She cleaned the hair up from the floor and headed towards the edge of the camp, where her ride was waiting.

“Are you Cara?” the man asked, his body turning to face her.

“Yes,” she replied, bags in hand.

“Let’s go,” he turned around and faced forward. Cara threw her bags in and climbed in after him. During the short drive, she plugged in the coordinates Meli had given her into the man’s planetary GPS. _It’s on another planet in this system. Huh._ She realized it would likely be a short trip. _The sooner, the better,_ she thought. When they arrived at the small space port, Cara had already removed her things when the man stepped out, handing her tickets to board. She looked up to thank him, but he put his hand out to stop her, shaking his head. He gave her a cocky smile. “Good luck, kid. May the Force be with you,” He reached out his hand and she shook it with a slow nod.

“Thanks,” she responded slowly, still confused as to what this “Force” was supposed to be. 

“Don’t mention it,” he waved his hand as he turned around, getting back into the speeder.

It took Cara’s ship all of an hour to travel through space before she had arrived at her destination. A few minutes later, she met her contact, and only 30 minutes after that, she was officially signed in as a trainee.

***

_Dantooine III_

_Rebellion Training Camp_

After a several minutes of never-ending tears, Cara closed her eyes, trying to practice the breathing exercises she had learned over the years while practicing martial arts. Once she felt she had a firm handle on her emotions, she stood, wiping her eyes as thoroughly as she could, her hands only quivering slightly before she stepped out of the closet with her toiletries.

“There you are!” she heard a relieved voice behind her as soon as she stepped out. It was Maris, who immediately wrapped her in a tight hug that gave her little room to breathe.

“Yes, yes, it’s me, let go!” Cara cried before stepping back from her friend. “Give a girl a chance to breathe, won’t ya?” Cara smirked, hands on her knees as she tried to once again catch her breath.

“Oops! Sorry Cara. We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Maris informed her, concern etched all over her face.

“I’m fine, Maris, just needed a good cry, is all,” Cara assured her.

“But Cara, the cleaning closet? Really?” Maris put an arm around her shoulders as the two walked back to their quarters.

“Hey,” Cara laughed, almost harshly, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Well, I would have picked a better place, personally,” Maris expressed, her tone playfully condescending.

“Of course you would have,” Cara put her arm around her friend’s waist, affectionately bumping Maris’s head with her own.

“Hey, I’ve been thinking,” Maris began after a moment.

“Shocking,” Cara deadpanned. That earned her an elbow to the ribs.

“Shut up, Dune, and let me finish for once.”

“I always let my partners finish; I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cara winked at her.

“Ha! You wish we were partners, you perv,” Maris shook her head, “Anyways, I wonder what _exactly_ we’ll be doing and where we’ll be going after tomorrow. You know, since the Death Star is gone and all.”

Not even a week into her training, news spread throughout the training camp of the Rebels’ victory. The Death Star was the space station responsible for the destruction of Alderaan. Cara had immediately fallen to her knees and sobbed, without stopping, for the whole night. Her unit had stopped their celebrating to comfort her. Some shed a few tears, themselves. It was the moment that bonded them and Cara knew she had made the right choice in joining up. These were her brothers and sisters now, and she would fight for them until her last breath.

“Don’t know,” Cara shrugged, “But I hope it’s Coruscant. I’ve got a big ‘fuck you’ I’d like to deliver to the Emperor personally. And it rhymes with ‘thermal detonator’.”

Maris threw her head back and let out a hearty laugh, “You _would_ want to do that.”

“Hell yeah, I would. Only if you were my second, though.”

“Fine, I’ll drop down with you, we can deliver the bomb and then flick him off before running away. Sounds like a plan to me,” Maris supplied sarcastically.

“Shut up, Benson. It’s a work in progress,” Cara leaned her whole weight into her friend, almost toppling the tall, lithe girl to the floor.

“Kriffing hell, Cara, you almost killed me!” Maris exclaimed, “Don’t think I want to be second in command on this ‘mission’ If you keep trying to kill me before then,” she side-eyed her friend, sneering.  
  


“Nah, I won’t do that. I’ll wait till after,” Cara winked.

“You’re impossible,” Maris shook her head with a heavy sigh.

“Come on, you know you love me,” Cara reached around with her unoccupied hand to ruffle her friend’s hair.

“Don’t push it, Dune,” she grunted in response before slapping the back of Cara’s head, but she was smiling.

The next day, the Delta Company dressed in their uniforms and stood before their commanding officers, who spoke words of wisdom before graduating them. They lined up to receive their arm tattoos that would designate them as shock troopers. Cara and Maris lined up together and were able to receive their tattoos at the same time. (Maris was moaning in pain, and Cara had called her ‘pussy’. That had earned Cara an emphatic one-finger salute). When the tattoo artist was done, Cara and Maris examined their respective artists’ handiwork.

“Dang, Dune, that looks positively _badass_!” Maris complimented her friend.

“Yours, too, Benson,” Cara assented, gesturing towards the artwork on her friend’s decidedly smaller arm. 

“You ladies are all done,” the artists told them, and Cara was struck with an impulsive idea.

“Wait,” she turned to her artist, who had begun sanitizing his station, “Could I maybe…get another one?”

“Oh?” the man turned toward her, “I’m listening.”

“Something small…” she spoke, “The Rebel insignia. I want it right under my left eye, like a mole. Super tiny, though. Don't want to go against the dress code, after all,” she smirked, then, her hands on her hips, "And if an Imp gets close enough to see it, it'll be the last damn thing he sees."

“Brilliant,” Maris clapped her hands together before wincing. Her arm was still a bit sore.

“Sure,” the artist shrugged. “Won’t take long.” An hour later, Cara walked away sporting two new tattoos. She didn’t know if _this_ was what her family had in mind when they talked about “keeping hope alive”, but if doing so meant taking down the Imps that cheered for their deaths, well…so be it. This was her version of hoping for a better future, and she wasn’t going to let _anyone_ get in her way. 

And if they did? Well...they would get to meet the business end of her standard-issue blaster. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh still riding on my high from yesterday. I hope I'm doing Cara justice! Leave some love or constructive criticism! I'll take anything. haha
> 
> By the way, Cara's ride is not Han, but someone like Han. (Poe's father, maybe?) Han was a little busy at this point in the story, if you remember. ;)


	6. Vode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din hears of a recent galactic tragedy, and reflects on his own losses. Also, Paz is angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have been so ridiculously kind and helpful and I thank you so much! This is more or less an angsty chapter, and I struggled with writing it. Writing Mandalorian culture and Din's feelings is harder, for some reason. Honestly, I feel like I'm just rushing us to when our favorite kids reunite. 
> 
> Here are the translations (in Mando'a)  
> vode- brothers  
> nibral- loser, failure  
> dar'maanda- not a Mandalorian; a devastating thing for a Mandalorian to become

_Explosions were going off all around them. He stayed cradled in his father's arms, even as the battle droids mercilessly destroyed every person in sight. Suddenly, there was an explosion, and he was ripped from his parents' arms, their faces fading into black..._

Din shot up in his bed, breathless. It wasn't often he had this specific nightmare anymore, but with all of the recent tragedy he had endured, it didn't surprise him. He took a few moments to catch his breath before turning towards his chronometer, which was the only light in this darkened room. It was fairly late in the morning; later than he was used to sleeping. But, in all fairness, he had an excuse. He hadn’t made it back home from his latest bounty delivery until very late at night, when everyone was sleeping. Sore and exhausted, he had crawled into bed without removing any armor.

Now, he felt as if his under-armor was sticking to him and he could _smell_ himself under the helmet, though for for all he knew it could also be just the stench of the sewers where he resided. With a small noise of disgust, he removed his helmet and began to remove his dirty armor, one piece at a time. He then peeled himself out of his clothes and made his way to his washroom. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror as he turned on the shower. His hair was longer, and wildly curly, still. He had patches of facial hair on his cheeks as well as a mustache and a beard. He had various cuts and bruises and smudges on his face from his fight with the bounty he had just delivered. His eyes, still a desert brown, had somehow become even more haunted over the years. There were large bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. Letting out a huge sigh, he stepped into the warm shower.

 _That’s the stuff_ , he thought as he let the warm water wash over the dirt and grime and sweat covering his body. He stretched a little, feeling the aches and pains from his battle begin to disappear, although these days, he wasn’t sure if these aches and pains were from the fights or from simply waking up after a night of sleep. At 28 standard years old, he hardly considered himself old, but he definitely did not feel as young as he used to feel. He continued his morning routine of freshening up and cleaning his armor in silence, occasionally wincing if he stretched the wrong way. 

After finishing his routine, he plodded sleepily out of his sleeping quarters. He cracked his back ( _Ahhh that’s it)_ as he entered the common room, which was dark save for the glow of the torches that hung on each wall. He noticing some of his fellow Mandalorians were gathered around the Holo-projector watching the galactic news.

“That’s just a damn shame,” he overheard one of them say. He stepped closer, standing directly behind them.

“What’s a shame?” He asked. One of them turned to shush him and pointed to the screen,

_If you’re just joining us, we have breaking news. The Empire has once again shown its might in the form of a mighty battle station with the power to destroy planets. The planet Alderaan, a planet full of rebels and spies, was destroyed today as a demonstration to all planets that dare defy the Empire to do so at their own risk…_

Din shook his head in disbelief. He was shocked. If he remembered correctly from his lessons, Alderaan was a peaceful planet. He had a vague memory of Alderaan, but he wasn’t sure if it was a memory or a dream. Something about falling off a fathier, and a little girl with a most unusual name-Carasynthia…

“The Empire is merciless,” one of his Mandalorian brothers, Paz, had slammed his fist on the table next to him, pulling Din from his thoughts, “As if destroying _our_ home and way of life were not enough…” he ground out angrily. It had been just six months since the Great Purge, and now he and his Mandalorian brothers and sisters and the rest of the survivors of his covert were in hiding.

 _Unfair, indeed_ , Din thought to himself bitterly. Some of his brothers had been foundlings, like him, survivors of an unforgiving war, and most had been home when the Great Purge happened. Kavin had been one of them.  
  
He would never forget that day. He had been off-planet, having already dropped off a bounty and receiving his reward, when the news of the beginning Moff Gideon’s purge of Mandalorians reached him via several distress calls. He had tried to contact Kavin to find out if they had been affected, but there was no response. Panicked, Din flew straight home. But he was too late. Imperial cruisers had blockaded the planet. Feeling helpless, he hid out on the desert planet of Jakku to plan his next move. After a few weeks in hiding, grieving what he was sure was the death of all of his brothers, he received an encoded message that survivors in his covert had made their way to Nevarro, settling in the underground sewers, and he had followed them there. It was there that he had learned about Kavin’s death, and the death of many of his brothers in his clan.

Din had held himself responsible for it- what if he hadn’t taken the bounty hunting job when he did? Would he have been able to save him? He knew it was an irrational thought, as bounty hunting was their livelihood, but he couldn’t help but wonder. The two of them had promised to always look out for each other, and the night before the Purge, he and Kavin had been shooting the shit over their comms, planning out their next sabacc game for when Din got back. (Kavin always cheated, Din maintained.) It had been unbelievable for him to comprehend just how drastically and how dramatically his life had changed, yet again. One day Kavin was here- the next he was gone. One day he had a home- the next day he didn’t. This seemed to be a recurring theme in Din’s life, and he wasn’t sure how much more upheaval he could take, and how many times he was going to get lucky. The thought, _I shouldn’t be alive_ crossed his mind frequently.

Weighed down with guilt, he coped with his losses by suppressing his memories and distancing himself from anyone and anything he could ever care about now or potentially care about later. It wasn’t healthy, he knew, but it worked for him. After Kavin’s death and the loss of his clan’s original home he had thrown himself into bounty hunting, rarely wanting to be anywhere near Nevarro, which was just as well with the Armorer. She regarded him as one of the primary bounty hunters (and providers) of their clan, and even though him being away meant they could not leave their underground sanctuary (due to the rule of only one person being allowed to leave at a time), she held him in high esteem and allowed him more free reign than most.

As for his Mandalorian brothers and sisters, they each coped with their losses in different ways. Some picked fights. Some trained harder. Some were preparing to take on foundlings.

Din knew he could never do that. So he did what he did best- bury himself in work, when he could get it.

“Din? What do you think?” one of his brothers asked. Din hadn’t realized he had zoned out.

“About what?”

“About Alderaan, nibral,” Paz responded frustratingly in that gravelly, low voice he seemed to always use. Din resisted the urge to get up and punch his brother in the head. Now, Din understood Paz’s anger- Paz and Kavin had both been home when the Great Purge happened. Most of his clan had, actually. A handful of them had been off-world, but of that handful, he was the only one standing in this room right now, thus making him the perfect target for Paz’s frustrations.

But Din wasn’t going to give Paz the pleasure of reacting to his insult.

“It’s a tragedy,” Din spoke instead, his tone even.

“A tragedy? Do you hear yourself? The Empire commits genocide _again_ , and that’s all you have to say?” Paz was standing up at this point at his full height, turning towards Din.  
  
“Yes,” Din answered, simply, keeping all emotion out of his voice.

“You…” Paz began to take large menacing steps towards him, “You think you’re better than us, huh? Because _you_ get to go bounty hunting?”  
  


“No,” Din steeled his voice, squaring his shoulders. He wasn’t sure where this came from, but knowing Paz’s propensity to anger, he wasn’t surprised.

“Tell me, what were you doing when your brothers were slaughtered, Din?” Paz continued. Din knew Paz was baiting him, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I was doing my job, same as we were doing before the Purge. Am I to take responsibility for doing what we have been doing for _years_?” Din began walking to Paz, then, frustration seeping into his tone, his fingers forming themselves into fists. He knew Paz was off his rocker and was just looking for a fight, but Din couldn’t help himself. _If Paz wants to spar, then let’s spar._

Paz was quite for a moment, then, “You want to know what happened to Kavin, Din?” Paz began after a few moments coming closer to him until their toes practically touched. His voice seemed to take on a mocking tone.

“Paz…” Din spoke, his tone now a warning. He could feel his fists shaking with the desire to fight.

“Kavin’s helmet was ripped off, Din. It was ripped off right before that Imperial Moff held his blaster to his head and pulled the trigger,” Paz was holding his two fingers to the front of Din’s helmet. Din willed his body to be calm, but he hadn’t heard these details before, and he could feel his anger rising.

“Paz,” his voice was all but a growl.

“He died dar’mandaa,” Paz continued, “Without honor. And you. Weren’t. There,” he punctuated his words by jabbing his finger into the chest piece of Din’s armor. Something snapped inside Din, then, and he threw his body into Paz’s with a cry, somehow knocking the larger man to the floor. The rest of his brothers stepped back, not wanting to be party to this nonsense. The two wrestled, throwing wild punches and elbows before a voice echoed in the room,  
  
“What is going on here?” Immediately the men ceased their fighting at the sound of the Armorer’s booming voice, crawling back away from each other meekly. The Armorer stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, feet in a wide stance that screamed “no-nonsense”. The two Mandalorians stood up then to face her, their hunched over bodies and their lack of eye contact with the Armorer betraying their guilt, “You two are _vode._ BROTHERS in arms! And you are both behaving like children!” The two men dared not look up then. “What have you to say for yourselves?” The Armorer demanded. Paz spoke up first.

“I started the fight. It’s just not fair,” he looked up then, “Why does _Din_ get to live guilt-free and go bounty hunting instead of suffering in secrecy in this stench-filled existence here like most of us have since the Purge?”

“I don’t live guilt-free, Paz!” Din protested, loudly, before whispering, his voice hoarse with emotion, “Don’t you think I wish I were there with you all?”

There was a moment of silence. Both men regarded each other, unmoving. “Well then,” the Armorer spoke after a moment in that matter-of-fact tone she liked to use, “If you two are done bickering, I need someone to go gather some food. Paz,” she gestured to the taller man, handing him a bag of coins, “Take this and buy us some meal packets and water, and bread if you can find it.”

“I will,” Paz nodded deeply, turning to leave the room.

“And Din,” she turned to him then, “Go rest your body. I will need you soon.”

Din’s aching joints, further injured by his fight with Paz, seemed to agree with her and he nodded deeply before plodding to his room. He dropped heavily on his bed with a deep sigh.

 _Life is all about survival now,_ he thought, _There is no living for me._

And he didn’t see how that would ever change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it! The reunion chapter is coming! If you would like, leave a comment; I appreciate your love and your feedback! :)


	7. The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara and Din finally reunite on Sorgan! This chapter follows the fourth episode of "The Mandalorian" and even includes a bit of dialogue from the episode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!!! This chapter took FOREVER to write and edit and it still isn't perfect. haha   
>  We explore their reunion on Sorgan in this chapter from both of their points of view. This chapter includes some dialogue and follows the events from the episode, which, I will clarify, is not my own. The dialogue from the episode, "Sanctuary", is owned by Jon Favreau and crew and, of course, Disney. 
> 
> No translations today. :)

_About 10 years later_

Sorgan

**Cara Dune**

“Hey, another round, please!” Cara called from her table in the corner, waving to the waitress with her empty glass. The waitress (or was she the owner? She certainly seemed to have some authority here) gave her a nod of acknowledgement before turning to grab her another glass of this delicious alcoholic jogan fruit beverage- what was it called again? _Whatever_. Cara let out a contented sigh. She had only been on this planet for a week, but she had already decided that _this_ was how life was meant to be lived- slowly and simply. Indeed, she had already fallen in love with the unhurried lifestyle of the natives of this planet, not to mention their alcohol, called spotchka. She had just done an odd job for a friend of a friend, helping him “take care of” a couple men who frequently stole from his business and generally terrorized the townsfolk. In return, he had paid her handsomely and had sent her on her way to Sorgan, a planet she had heard was as green and lush as Tatooine was hot and sand-covered and as far away from Imperial loyalists and New Republic rule as they came.

 _How the mighty have fallen_ , she thought sardonically as she thanked the waitress who gave her a fresh glass. Had someone told her ten years ago she would be living her life as a mercenary, in hiding from the very people she had sworn loyalty to, she’d punch them square in the face. Yes, her life had endured quite a few changes in the last ten years, but then, so had the galaxy. The Empire was gone now, but there was still a remnant of Imperials and Imperial sympathizers scattered around the galaxy (and she was a wanted woman with them, too). Now, the galaxy had a New Republic, and once that was firmly established, the nature of Cara’s career as a dropper had changed from exciting and dangerous to boring and somewhat monotonous, that is, until that incident with the assassination attempt…

She shoved that memory violently to the back of her mind with a dramatic swig of her drink. Out of habit, she surveyed the folks in this establishment. Some were native to Sorgan, but most hailed from other planets. Some of them also seemed to be a little on the rough side, but for the most part the customers in this particular common house seemed fairly tame. The soldier in her sized them up, though, just in case. She was just musing over how she would take down those two guys laughing loudly at the bar when she saw something shiny out of the corner of her eye. At the far entrance, a Mandalorian walked in, his beskar armor catching and reflecting the light from Sorgan’s sun that was shining through the slats in the woven walls. He walked slowly and cautiously, scanning the crowd much as she had been a moment before. _Kriffing hell,_ she thought, _he’s Guild. If he has my fob I’m royally screwed._ Guarded now, and hurriedly devising a plan in her mind to evade and possibly take down this bounty hunter, she observed the Mandalorian from her corner seat, which she had chosen purposefully for its location. (No one would be behind her and she could see everyone inside the common house.) He stopped in front of a small table in front of her to her left, and when he leaned down to pick something up, her hand went straight to her pistol by her side, almost without thinking. It was then that she noticed that he had picked up not a weapon, but a small, green creature with ridiculously large pointy ears. _What the hell is a bounty hunter doing with something like_ that? She couldn’t help but wonder. Never in her almost-33 years had she seen any being that looked like that little green…thing. 

The waitress approached the pair, asking what they would like. She strained to hear their conversation, but she could have sworn he said, “little one”.

“Fuck,” she swore under her breath. _This could complicate things._ When it came to kids, Cara steered clear. She had seen what happened when kids were caught in the crossfire, and their faces would haunt her for the rest of her life. She wasn’t sure if this creature was a kid or not, but she wasn’t taking that chance. She began forming a new plan in her mind, realizing she would have to draw the Mandalorian out somehow. If he had been watching her (and she suspected he had been), he would notice her absence. She saw her opportunity when the waitress moved to block her view of the duo. She snuck out of the nearest entrance, looking for a good place to watch for him. She would have to take him by surprise, she decided. Finding a good rooftop hiding spot, Cara scaled the wall and heaved herself over the top. If there was one thing she had learned as a soldier, it was to _always_ go for the higher ground. She heard the unmistakable sound of metal on metal nearby and peered cautiously over the edge. Sure enough, it was the Mandalorian. He was walking in her direction. _Perfect,_ she grinned slyly. He had fallen right into her trap. She counted down, _3…2…1…_ and then she pounced.

**Din Djarin**

To say that Din Djarin’s life had undergone some changes recently would be what one might call a major understatement. In the span of literally two weeks, he had gone from a lone wolf bounty hunter who cared only about turning his bounties in and getting paid to the bounty hunter who had found the bounty of the century, turned it in, and then _rescued it back_ from the client. Oh, and did he mention his client was an _Imperial?_ And that his ENTIRE CLAN had come out from the shadows to fight the Imperials and bounty hunters who were after his “prize” while he escaped with it?  
  


Yeah, his life had changed alright. He turned from his cockpit seat to view the “prize”, who was sitting on the button-less part of the control panel next to him and looking around curiously. His heart warmed as he watched the little green kid, whose wrinkled forehead and large pointy ears moved up and down as he took in all the lights and buttons with his large, black eyes. This kid (who was somehow older than _him_ ) had actually saved his life when he had first captured it on Arvala-7. The two had already been through a lot together, and in spite of his best efforts (and he really _had_ tried hard), Din found himself growing attached to the little guy. Speaking of the little guy, he was now starting to touch buttons. Din fixed the first one, and reprimanded him sternly not to touch anything after the second one. Unfortunately, he was learning, the kid was not keen on following directions. The devious green munchkin gave him a suspicious look before touching a button that shook the entire cabin. Din fixed it with a sigh before picking him up and placing him in his lap, his eyes now on the viewfinder in front of them. He had been looking for a while for a planet to lay low on for a while. One called “Sorgan” had just popped up, and it was relatively close by to their current location but also out of the way of Empire and New Republic supporters alike, which meant it was safe. He shared as much with the kid, whom he would occasionally affectionately refer to as “little womp rat”. The kid was too engaged with the blinking lights to respond.

The two landed in a clearing, where Din (futilely) told his tiny charge to stay put while he left the ship. He didn’t listen, naturally. That was all the same to him; it would be easier to protect him this way anyway. The two made their way through the dense woods together, albeit slowly. The sun on this planet was casting shadows here and there, but the trees (and roots) were so thick you could barely tell it was sunny. Even so, a sunny day was still a sunny day in Din's eyes. And as far as the temperature went, it was absolutely perfect. It was fairly cool, but not so cold that he needed extra layers. There were barely any sounds, either, save for the sounds of domestic creatures living in these woods. In spite of that, Din’s head was on a swivel, though he occasionally smiled as the kid navigated around (and sometimes tripped over) roots. The two finally reached a common house after only about 15 minutes of walking. He entered the common house and immediately could feel the eyes of every patron on him. The kid was close behind him, probably doing the same but out curiosity rather than caution. 

His heart beat a little faster as he scanned his surroundings, silently evaluating each individual for potential threats, and thinking of a way to subdue them, if necessary. Finally, he decided on a table against the wall, bending over to place the kid in the seat directly next to his. He could feel, though, rather than see, the eyes of a woman he hadn’t noticed in his perusal sitting in front of him and to his right, staring at him calculatingly when she thought he wasn’t looking. _Was she a bounty hunter?_ He wondered worriedly, _Maybe Sorgan wasn’t such a good idea after all._ The waitress approached them at that moment.

“Welcome, travelers!” the waitress greeted with a warm smile, “Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth, for the little one,” he requested.

“Oh, well, you’re in luck. I just took down a gringer, so there’s plenty. Can I interest you in a porringer of broth, as well?”

“Just the one,” Din confirmed.

“Very well.”

“That one over there,” Din began, trying to nod as subtly as possible to the woman in the corner, “When did she arrive?”

“Uh…I’ve seen her here for the last week or so,” the waitress informed him.

“What’s her business here?” He _had_ to make sure she wasn’t a bounty hunter, or this could get _really_ messy _really_ fast.

“Business? Oh well…there’s not much business in Sorgan so I can’t say…”

Din sighed internally, knowing that was all the information he would get out of her. He placed some coins down on the table for the meal.

“…She doesn’t strike me as a log runner. Well thank you, sir!” The woman picked up the coins with some surprise, “I will get that broth to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka, just for good measure. I’ll be right back with that.”

Din almost wanted to laugh. She didn’t realize he couldn’t actually _drink_ the spotchka in front of people, and the kid was certainly not old enough to do so. He sat back and took in his environment once more, his eyes finally rested on the corner again, only there was a problem. The woman wasn’t there. _Bad,_ he panicked, instantly shooting straight to his feet. _Very very bad. We are fucked._

Frantically, he tossed some coins to the waitress, asking her to watch the kid, and turned on his heel out the nearest entrance. Using his hud to find heat signatures, he discovered footprints leading away from the building. All of a sudden, the footprints ended.

 _Curious…_ he thought, and then it hit him. Literally.

**Cara Dune**

In the “for what it’s worth” column, she thought the Mandalorian had handled her surprise attack very well. She had swung down from the roof and had been unrelenting in her attack from the get-go, though he had landed a few punches as well. After one particularly powerful punch to the head, he fell with a “thud” to the ground. She thought she had him, then, until he used his flamethrower. So she stomped it out, dropping down to her knees and grabbing at his chest piece in order to try and knock his head into the ground. She hadn’t expected him to hook his leg the way he did and pin her, but it was a momentary victory as, with a twist of her feet, she kicked him up and over her head and onto the ground behind her. Unfortunately, the bastard would _NOT.LET.GO,_ so now they were locked arm in arm, rolling around in the dirt as they each fumbled for their respective pistols with their free hands, stopping simultaneously to point them at the other’s head. Stalemate. As she contemplated her next step, her ears picked up the sound of someone slurping. The Mandalorian must have, too, because they both turned their heads at the same time towards the sound.

It was the green kid, and he was slurping his bone broth with not a care in the world. _When-and how- did he get here?_ She thought, and she had a feeling the Mandalorian was thinking the same thing. The two silently lay in wonder at the child’s stealthy feat for a few moments before he finally spoke up, breaking the silence.

“Want some soup?” he offered, almost cautiously.

“Sure…” she responded, eyebrows furrowed and her eyes never leaving the kid as the two released arms and she holstered her weapon. The Mandalorian’s hand tapped her shoulder as she was standing up and she whipped around into a fighting stance almost subconsciously. He flinched, but only slightly.

“You good?” he questioned slowly as he leaned down to pick up the child.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she replied, still somewhat perplexed at this sudden turn of events. The two re-entered the common house, then, and sat down at his spot. The eyes of the patrons were on the two of them, but she ignored them. She suddenly realized she hadn’t introduced herself. “Cara Dune,” she announced, reaching out her hand across the table. The Mandalorian took it.

“Pleasure,” he responded after a moment, his head cocked sideways as if he was trying to recall something. The two let go, and Cara, deciding to take the man at his word, called the waitress over to order her soup. After finishing her order, Cara decided to break the silence.

“So, what’s your name?” No response. “What, is it an embarrassing name or something?”

“No,” he answered simply, “I just don’t share it.”

“Ok,” she nodded in acquiescence, shrugging. If he didn’t want to share, he didn’t want to share. _We all have our secrets, after all._

“So what’s your deal? Rebel soldier, right?” he asked, pointing to her tattoos. Normally her reaction to that question was to tell the other person to shove it, or just to glare at them until they decided it wasn’t important to know about, but something about this guy told her to share this part of her life with him.

“Yeah. Saw most of my action mopping up after Endor; mostly ex-Imperial warlords. They wanted it fast and quiet. They’d send us in on drop ships. No support, just us,” she explained, “Then, when the Imps were gone, the politics started. We were peacekeepers, protecting delegates; suppressing riots. Not what I signed up for,” she shook her head, thinking of the incident…

“How’d you end up here?” he inquired, mercifully pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Let’s just call it an early retirement,” she took a long sip of her soup, glancing at the kid before continuing, deciding to go with honesty, here. “Look, I knew you were Guild. I figured you had a fob on me. That’s why I came after you so hard." She felt like she owed the guy an explanation after knocking his face into the ground.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” he nodded. _Not one for small talk, huh? I guess it’s time for me to take my leave._

“Well this has been a real treat,” she smiled sweetly, because her mamma raised a _lady_ , thank you very much. She stood up, “But unless you want to go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” She gave him a wicked grin, raising her eyebrows teasingly before taking a long sip of her soup and then walking away.

 _Well, that was fun_ , she thought, feeling some measure of satisfaction as she stumbled somewhat into the woods (how many drinks had she had again?) where her knapsack sat, propped up against a tree. She sank down, then, leaning heavily against the rough bark of the tree as she took in the scenery around her, which was both beautiful and blessedly quiet save for the sounds of a few nocturnal woodland animals beginning to awaken from slumber. She picked up a lone branch right next to her leg and began to whittle it into a point with her knife, _but it’s nice to just have quiet every once in a while._ Sometimes she hated the quiet, but tonight, having quenched her thirst for a good fight, she was fairly pleased to sit in contented silence and observe the sunset. _Silence, but not peace_ , she reminded herself. She truthfully hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since her home planet had been destroyed and she had joined the Rebellion. After her experiences as a soldier, she was almost afraid to relax or even shut her eyes. The fear of what could attack her was very real and present in her mind, even if it wasn’t rational now that she was more or less a civilian. She knew many soldiers transitioning into civilian life struggled with such things. Of course, other transitioning soldiers weren’t wanted by the New Republic _and_ Imperial remnant…

That wasn’t the only source of her insomnia. At night she also had vivid nightmares revolving around her family, her fellow soldiers, and all of the battles and trauma that she he had endured over the course of her six years as a shock trooper. She knew that the nightmares would likely follow her like a dark cloud for the rest of her life.

A harsh wind whipped through the trees at that moment, and Cara shivered from the sudden cold. Standing up, she hunted for a few good sticks and some stones and made herself a fire, something she had been able to do from childhood. And as the orange and pink hues of the sunset gave way to the darkness, the stars and moons lighting up the sky, she allowed her eyes to close, just for a moment, her pistol resting in her lap.

**Din Djarin**

Din had been taken by surprise, to put it mildly. The woman from the bar had literally appeared from nowhere, literally swinging in to drop kick him, and it was all Din could do to recover. Calling on his training, he met her punches parry for parry (mostly), and even though she was _ridiculously_ strong, he felt they were evenly matched- that is, until she landed a right cross to his head so powerful he fell to the ground with an emphatic “thunk”, his ears ringing. He tried to recover by using his flamethrower, but that did no good. _I’m going to have to fix it later_ , he noted. He thought he had her pinned at one point, but the woman had thrown him clean over her head. He had landed flat on his back after that move, awe-struck. It had actually been at that precise moment when Din was staring up at the sky and trying to catch his breath that he had decided that she was deserving of his respect-never mind that she was probably out to kill him. The fight ended in a draw with the two warriors holding a pistol to the other’s head. It was at that moment that the kid decided to make himself known with a loud slurp of his stew. _This kid is_ ridiculously _sneaky,_ Din thought with wonder (and a bit of concern), _I may have to make a bell for his neck._ It was then he realized that both he and the woman hadn’t moved, and, upon reading the confused expression on the woman’s face, he understood immediately that she wasn’t out to capture him or the kid. Drawn to this woman for some reason he couldn’t quite place, he offered, lamely,

“Want some soup?”

The three of them had eventually made their way back into the common house, amidst confused and perhaps even some disappointed stares from the customers. As the trio sat down at his table, Din couldn’t help but notice, in the light and up close, that she had a small Rebel insignia tattooed on her cheek. Her arm also had a tattoo, and he recognized it at once. _So, she was a shock trooper_ , he thought. _That explains her skills._ She was not frail by any stretch of the imagination, but she was most _certainly_ not a man. He blushed as he realized he was now staring at her breasts. _Well, I_ am _a man,_ he thought, almost defensively. Her hair was a bit tousled, with a braid that made its way from her left temple to around the base of her head. The rest of her raven locks fell loosely around her face, landing just above her shoulders. Her eyes were dark and expressive, and her smile, though tight-lipped, betrayed dimples on either cheek.

“Cara Dune,” she introduced herself, reaching her hand across the table. He took it, but a little lightbulb began to go off, though dimly, in his head. _Dune_ , he thought, saying her last name to himself. _Why do I feel like I know that name? Dune Dune Dune…_ He repeated the name to himself a few more times as he shook her hand.

“Pleasure,” he had responded, his mother’s face appearing in his mind suddenly as he thought about how she would look at him if he forgot his manners. The thought shook him to his core. Very rarely did he have a thought about his mother. Cara raised her hand to order her soup, and he was suddenly very grateful to hear her voice cut through this odd memory and jerk him back to the present.

“So,” she turned back to him after ordering her bone broth, “what’s your name?” He thought a moment. That name, paired with this intrusive memory of his mother, was more than he was willing to address at the moment, especially with a total stranger (attractive though she may be). He stayed silent and she asked if he had an embarrassing name.

“No,” he shook his head softly, “I just don’t share it.” Rather than dwell any further on the subject, he began to inquire of her past in the Rebellion. He understood _she_ might not want to share it, but she seemed not to mind. Indeed, as she explained her role in the Rebellion to him, he realized that he was dealing with a highly trained soldier with guts (not that he had any doubts about her bravery).

“Well this has been a treat,” she stood up then, her eyes absolutely dancing as she gave him a grin, sipping her soup, “But unless you want to go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” She finished her soup with a playful lift of her eyebrows and a subtle bite of her lower lip before walking out the door. To his credit, Din tried not to admire her figure as she sauntered away. (He failed, but at least he tried.) He turned to the kid, 

“Well, looks like this planet is taken.”

Thanking the waitress, he picked up the little green boy (who was babbling in protest at having to leave this place full of food, he assumed) and walked out, opting to carry him back to the Razor Crest, instead. As he walked back, he thought about his interaction with the shock trooper.

First of all, she was a stunning woman with a strong yet very much feminine body that made Din somehow feel both aroused and intimidated, and for good reason. She had 100% kicked his ass, solidly, if the tender bump on his head was any indication. She was obviously tough and battle-hardened, but something almost painful came over her face-memories, perhaps- when she spoke of the Rebellion. He knew that look. He knew that if she had seen his eyes when she had asked for his name, that she would have seen the same exact haunted expression. It was the look of someone who had seen too much; had experienced loss. There was a part of him, the part that longed to be known and heard, that was filled with hope when they interacted. The other part, the part that rejected attachments, told him he had already made himself vulnerable by caring for the kid. He couldn’t risk forming more attachments or dwelling on possibilities. She was a strong, beautiful woman whom he had the pleasure of meeting, and that was that. The end. He doubted they would ever meet again.

Besides that, the name “Dune” troubled him. Hearing that name had reminded him of his mother for some reason, and he wasn’t sure if prolonged contact with this woman was good for his mental health. Granted, repressing memories probably wasn’t good, either, but he didn’t know any other way to cope.

When they arrived back at the Razor Crest, the sun was setting, casting odd shadows across the forest floor. He put the kid to bed on the Crest before getting started on basic pre-flight maintenance. He was in his first hour of work when he heard a few voices behind him.

“Excuse me! Excuse me sir!” The voices called. He inwardly groaned. _I haven’t had a damn moment of peace on this trip so far. This had better be good._

The conversation that followed had Din more or less wanting to knock the two interrupting men unconscious simply out of sheer annoyance. The two were stumbling over themselves asking for help with raiders in their village. They didn’t have a lot of money, granted, but Din felt bad that the two krill farmers had traveled so far just to ask for his help. Plus, it was in the middle of nowhere, and thus safer for the kid and for him. But after hearing the details, Din realized he wasn’t going to be able to take on this task alone. Luckily, he knew just the person for the job.

He requested credits from the two men in order to pay the person he had in mind and while they were moving his stuff onto their sled, he walked back to the common house. (He had already moved the kid; best to wake him up now rather than right before they left.) There was a small fire burning nearby, and he made his way towards it, not sure if the person he was looking for would be there or not. Fortunately for him, he was right. Leaning against a tree in front of the fire was Cara Dune. Her eyes were closed, but Din knew she wasn’t sleeping, or at least she wasn’t sleeping deeply. He dropped the bag of coins next to her, and her pistol came up so fast he almost didn’t see her draw it. The shadows from the firelight danced across her face, which was set firmly. “Ready for round two?” he asked.

**Cara Dune**

Cara had drifted off into a weird, light sleep where she was fully aware of what was happening around her but not fully conscious. She heard something hit the ground next to her with a clinking sound and her eyes shot open, pistol drawn and aimed at the figure standing next to her in half an instant. _The Mandalorian?_ She thought a bit hazily when she saw the reflection of the fire on the metal armor. _What is_ he _doing here again?_

“Ready for round two?” he challenged. She looked down at the source of the clinking. It was a small pouch full of coins. She gave him a sly smile as she picked it up, tossing it up and down casually, as if weighing it. 

“This isn’t a lot, you know,” she remarked, “This could maybe pay for, what? Dinner and some drinks? You want to take me out or something?” He froze in his spot as she smirked at him. She _really_ wished she could see his expression right now. _Has no one ever flirted with this man before?_ She had to wonder.

“Some local farmers need my help with some raiders. Figured it was a two-man job,” was all he would say in response.

She thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, she was here to relax and _avoid_ work, but on the other, having even a little more money certainly wouldn’t hurt. And, even if she wouldn’t admit it out loud, the idea of working with this mysterious guy was intriguing for some reason.

“Sure, I’m down,” she shrugged, finally, brushing off her pants as she stood up, “When do we leave?”

“How soon can you put out that fire?” He folded his arms in front of him, cocking his head to the side as he asked this. _Ah, so the man_ can _be witty after all_. She took her water canister and doused the fire, stomping out the ashes before picking up her knapsack and slinging it over her back. She turned to him.

“I’m ready when you are,” she smiled broadly, one hand resting on her hip.

“Good, let’s go then,” he said, turning towards the woods where she assumed the village was.

After a few minutes of walking in silence, Cara couldn’t help her curiosity, “So, how far is it from here?”

“Don’t really know. The guys who asked me to help said they had traveled the whole day, though.”  
  


“That’s…pretty damn far,” she winced. _So much for a ‘local’ job._

“Yeah, it is,” the Mandalorian conceded.

“Where’s the little green guy?” she asked, noticing for the first time that the big-eared tiny goblin was not with him.

“By the ship. He’s coming with us, obviously."

“Obviously,” Cara grinned. The two finished their walk to the sled in companionable silence. Cara didn’t spend a lot of time with anyone anymore, but when she did, she found that most of the time, when a conversation grew quiet, there was an air of awkwardness surrounding that silence, and Cara would feel the need to fill it with idle chatter. That was not the case with this man.

The sled was loaded for bear, sitting in front of a really really old Razor Crest that looked as if it had been around since the early days of the Old Republic. That’s _this guy’s ship?_ She couldn’t help but think. _He’s braver than I thought._ She held her tongue (just this once), but when the Mandalorian closed the ramp with a long, grating creak that was punctuated with a bang and a hiss, she couldn’t help but grimace. It _really_ was old.

“That bad, huh?” So he _had_ noticed her reaction.

“I’ve seen worse,” she assured him. This was the truth, but honestly she had only seen one ship worse off than his. _What was that ship of Captain Solo’s called? The Millennial Kraken?_

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sweet “coo” and her eyes were drawn to the kid, who was sitting comfortably on the sled on a stack of burlap bags. He was smiling, clearly excited to be off the ship. She couldn’t blame him. The armored man climbed on next, and then Cara slid in, sitting across from him. The two men (who introduced themselves as Caben and Stoke) turned to the trio as they made themselves comfortable for the long journey.

“Thank you so much," the one called Caben expressed to them.

“Really, we can’t thank you enough,” Stoke added. Cara gave the Mandalorian a look that she hoped read, _Where did you find_ these _guys?_ He seemed to understand her, because she saw his shoulders move up and down in an almost imperceptible shrug.

“Well, we haven’t done anything, so don’t thank us just yet,” the Mandalorian reminded them.  
  


“I know, but we truly are grateful. We are desperate for help,” Caben said, and she heard the desperation in his voice. _This is looking less and less worth it by the minute_ , the cynical part of her thought.

“So we’re basically running off a band of raiders for lunch money?” she finally commented after a few minutes.

“They’re quartering us in the middle of nowhere. Last I checked that’s a pretty square deal for somebody in your position,” the Mandalorian pointed out. _Ah yes, thanks for that reminder,_ she thought sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. He continued, “Worst case scenario, you tune up your blaster. Best case, we’re a deterrent. I can’t imagine there’s anything living in these trees than an ex-shock trooper couldn’t handle.”

 _We’re going for flattery tonight, huh? Well he’s not wrong_ , she thought, giving him a pointed look that she hoped conveyed as much. The Mandalorian leaned back then, awkwardly stretching out his arms in what she supposed was an attempt to look self-assured and confident. _He’s trying_ , _though. I’ll give him that._ Her lips turned up slightly at the thought. 

The two of them made quite a pair, she realized. Both were loners, and _he_ certainly was socially awkward. Cara hadn’t always been a loner, but ever since the incident that caused her to leave the Rebellion, she had made it a point to avoid relationships of any kind at all costs.

She had met this man briefly only twice, and yet she felt an odd kinship to him. It was a feeling she hadn’t felt for quite a long time, and it scared her. _It’s just a job,_ she assured herself, _I’m not going to get attached._

She glanced over at the kid. He was facing the sky, his little eyes closed in slumber. The Mandalorian’s head was trained to the sky, as well, and as she observed his chest moving slowly and evenly, she realized he, too, was asleep. _Might as well get some shut-eye_ , she thought, _I have a feeling we’re going to need it._

She leaned back and closed her eyes, sleep overtaking her almost instantly.

**Din Djarin**

She had said yes, of course. He had expected it. From what he had already gathered about this woman, he knew she would accept any chance to get her hands dirty.

What he _hadn’t_ expected was her remark about how the money was only enough for a dinner and drinks, followed immediately by, “You want to take me out or something?” Now, it wasn’t as if he had _never_ been hit on before or flirted with, but for some reason, coming from someone like _her,_ with that flirtatious, dimpled smile of hers radiating with confidence, it felt different _._ And he honestly didn’t know how to react to that, so he just stood there, blushing and unblinking and suddenly _very_ grateful for his helmet. He gathered himself before responding with a practical explanation about why he had taken the job, trying to keep his tone even. That seemed to satisfy her and she agreed to help him out, giving him that seemingly characteristic smirk of hers. She put out the fire before the two made their way back to the ship, where the sled would be (hopefully) ready and waiting. She had asked him a few clarifying questions about the job, but for the most part the two walked through the woods quietly.

It was odd, this version of quiet. Din knew he could be a very awkward person, but the silence didn’t feel awkward to him. It felt…right. It was rare that Din met someone with whom he could share comfortable silence. He tried not to dwell on how much he was enjoying it.

The two arrived just as the last box was loaded onto the sled. The kid was already sitting on a pile of burlap sacks, waiting. He closed the ramp to the Crest, and though he was used to all the sounds it made, it was clear by Cara’s barely concealed grimace that it was not pleasing to the ear.

“That bad, huh?” he asked, knowing what she was going to say.

“I’ve seen worse,” she said with a wry grin, and Din had to wonder what in the galaxy could be worse than his precious pile of junk.

The two climbed then climbed into the sled, settling in for a long ride. The two farmers had tried to thank them before they even left, and he could read the question on Cara’s face. He could only give a small shrug in response as Din had told the men they had nothing to thank him for yet.

A few minutes into the trip, Cara had expressed her concerns. Din reminded her that this was as good a deal as either of them could get. He then decided to give her a taste of her own flirty medicine by flattering her with the comment, “I can’t imagine there’s anything in these trees an ex-shock trooper couldn’t handle.”

He attempted to lean back casually, then, going for an easygoing “devil may care” attitude with his posture. It was slow and slightly awkward enough, though, that he knew he had failed miserably in his attempt to look cool. But before he could berate himself, he noticed Cara’s expression.

That confident “I can handle anything, and you know it,” look was back and Cara’s deep brown eyes somehow were staring straight into his, positively alight with determination. He couldn’t help but grin back at her triumphantly, even though she couldn’t see it. _Oh yeah!_ _I’ve still got it!_

Cara broke the stare to glance at the coins in her hand. He broke it as well, turning to see that the kid had lain down, face up and eyes twinkling with admiration at the stars above. He turned his head heavenward, as well, and soon, his eyes fell heavy with sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! This episode is so significant to their relationship that it may take a few more chapters to truly do it justice. Leave some love, and thank you all for reading!


	8. The Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cara and Din reach the village and do some recon, discovering that the threat to these villagers is bigger than it seems. AKA Din is awkward with women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing awkward Din is fun. Haha
> 
> I'm in love with these two characters and, frankly, their actors. Watch an interview with them sometime and you'll see just why Gina and Pedro must be protected at all costs. Too adorable.

**Din Djarin**

_Sorgan_

The sounds of laughter jerked him out of his slumber. He slowly sat up to see that Cara was just now waking up as well. The two turned to the source of the sound, and saw a group of children playing and laughing together. He tried not to dwell on how carefree they sounded; it had been so long since he had been like them.

The group turned from their game and ran to the sled, their attention immediately on the kid. _Figures,_ Din thought, but he couldn’t help but smile as the kid babbled and reached for them.

“Well, looks like they’re happy to see us,” he remarked to Cara.

“Looks like,” she agreed. The two warriors unloaded their sled with the help of villagers, who were now congregating around them.

“We’ll take you to your place of lodging,” one of the men (he had learned his name was Caben) said to him, “Come,” he gestured for Din to follow him. Din in turn motioned for the child to follow him while he carried a small box. Several villagers who hadn’t been assisting in unpacking were openly marveling at him and the kid as they passed, some even stopping their work to do so. Din knew the two made an odd pair, certainly, and while he was used to stares, he felt himself tense a little at the realization that now every person in the village knew of the child’s existence. They seemed like good people, but Din knew that looks could be deceiving. He would always have to be on his guard, even here. He was led to a small hut that looked like it held supplies. There was a woman outside the hut, opening some blinds. She was beautiful and had a gentle manner, and it made Din hesitate for a moment. He really didn’t like imposing on people, truly, and he wasn’t sure if he should just walk in or wait for her invitation.

“Please come in,” she spoke, then, and her voice was as gentle and light as her manner. It stunned him into silence, momentarily. _Wow. She is so incredibly lovely_ , he thought to himself as he entered the barn, almost shyly. “I hope this is comfortable for you,” she continued, “Sorry that all we have is the barn.”

“This will do fine,” Din assured her, putting down his cargo.

“I stacked some blankets over there,” she added, and Din turned to see that she had. He didn’t even know this woman, and already she was showing him more kindness than he felt he deserved. It both warmed his heart and made him feel uncomfortable.

“Thank you. That’s…very kind,” he said, hoping his voice conveyed the level of humble gratitude he felt. Somehow he had the feeling it hadn’t. _Beautiful_ and _kind,_ he thought a bit wistfully, _I don’t deserve this. I don’t even know how to talk to her._

The kid had already toddled in faithfully behind him, but it was the sound of slow footsteps from the doorway that had Din whirling in an instant in a protective stance. It was a child, a child who instantly ducked out of the doorway with a gasp. The woman reached for said child and pulled her into the doorway again, holding her to her side like only a mother would.

“This is my daughter, Winta,” she explained. Din relaxed only minutely. “We don’t get a lot of visitors around here. She’s not used to strangers.” She turned to the child then and spoke to her, her voice soft and soothing as she introduced them, “This nice man is going to help protect us from the bad ones.”

 _Nice man?_ Din felt guilty in that instant. The girl was just a child, and he had probably scared her. His guilt only became heavier when the little girl thanked him, her voice timid as she clung tightly to her mother’s side. He nodded in response, not trusting his voice right then. The woman then ushered the girl out and it was just him and the kid and, of course, his guilt.

He hated that he had scared the girl, but at the same time he knew that his reaction was automatic due to years and years of training as well as his concern for the kid’s safety. The kid chose that moment to babble some sort of nonsense, and Din was drawn to him once more.

“What do you think, kid? Is this place nice enough for you?”

The hut was fairly packed with supplies, most likely for farming. There was a small cradle, perhaps used to feed animals. He placed the kid gently in the cradle and rocked him back and forth. The kid smiled, throwing up his arms and letting out a sound of glee in response. Din smiled softly at the child. _At least you like me_. Truly, the kid adored Din, and Din found it hard not to feel the same way about him. A worrisome thought entered his head, then.

 _But is this the best life for him?_ Indeed, Din’s life had been anything but calm and peaceful, and likely would continue to be so. Was this the life for a kid? Always on the run and in the middle of fire fights? He knew the answer to that, and as much as it pained him to admit it, he knew it was the truth. This child certainly did not deserve to live a chaotic life like Din had from childhood. He deserved to be free and happy.

Unfortunately, that could not happen until the threat to the kid’s life was eliminated or until he found a safe place for him, away from all those who’d wish him harm. Perhaps, Din thought, Sorgan would be that safe place. He would have to think more about it later. Leaving the child to entertain himself, Din picked up his most prized weapon, his pulse rifle, and began cleaning it. He certainly hoped he wouldn’t have to use it, but it always paid to be prepared, which meant that he would need to make sure his weapons were in perfect working order. He was in the middle of cleaning it when he heard a gentle voice.

“Knock knock,” the voice spoke. It was that breathtaking woman again with her daughter. It occurred to him suddenly that this woman had not mentioned a husband. Could she be widowed? It certainly would explain why her eyes held such sadness, beautiful as they were.

 _Din, you have_ got _to stop dwelling on her_ , he mentally chastised. “Come in,” he finally spoke.

“Can I feed him?” a child’s voice finally inquired, shyly. Din turned around to see Winta clutching something small in her hands, looking nervously between him and the kid.

“Sure,” he responded without a second glance. She smiled as she squatted down next to the kid to feed him, giggling when he took her piece of food from her.

“Can I play with him?” she asked, looking hopeful. _So many questions. I forgot that children like to do that._

“Sure,” Din replied, a bit more reluctantly and with a small sigh. The girl’s face lit up as he picked up the child and put him on the ground.

“Come on!” she called to the kid, and the pointy-eared toddler hobbled after her happily. Din’s protective instincts kicked in in that moment and he started towards the door,

“I don’t -“ he began, but he felt the woman’s hand holding him back gently.

“They’ll be fine,” she assured him.

“I don’t think—“ He continued.

“They’ll be _fine_ ,” she assured him again, but a bit more forcefully. “I brought you some food. I noticed you didn’t eat out there. I’ll leave it here for when I go.”

This woman…this angel…was really too kind. It overwhelmed him momentarily and he turned from her, “That’s very thoughtful of you,” he thanked her, more softly this time.

“Do you mind if I asked you something?” she began, obviously hesitant.

“Go ahead,” Din responded. He had a funny feeling he wouldn’t like the question, but there was something in the sweetness of her tone that had him thinking he’d tell her anything.

“How long has it been since you’ve taken that off?” He knew she meant his mask. _That’s not a hard question,_ he thought with a bit of relief.

“Yesterday,” he answered simply.

“I mean in front of someone else.”

 _Oh._ He wasn’t sure if he wanted to think about it. It had been almost 20 years, and he had been younger and slightly more socially competent, then. He thought about how proud he had been to take that oath, and about how Kavin had slapped him on the back repeatedly in congratulations afterwards, unable to call him anything but “little brother” in Mando’a. _Kavin…_ the thought of his best friend-his brother-brought him great sadness, even after so many years. He turned to the window, observing the children playing happily outside with the kid.

“I wasn’t much older than they are,” he murmured, lost in thoughts of a childhood innocence lost. True, he was 18, not a young child when he took his oath, but he had taken on the tenants of the Way from the moment he was rescued.

“You haven’t shown your face to anyone since you were a kid?” The woman’s voice was sad.

“No,” he replied, feeling vulnerable. It all spilled out before he could stop himself, “I was…happy that they took me in. My parents were killed, and the Mandalorians took care of me.”

“I’m sorry,” her voice was low, full of sorrow. Truthfully, it was a traumatic event for Din, losing his parents, but he pushed those negative emotions down. He thought instead about how the Mandalorians had taken him in and made him one of their own. He was taught from a young age that “family is more than blood” and that “foundlings are the future”.

“This is the Way,” was all he could say in response. It probably didn’t make sense to her, but to him it meant everything. He had lost so much, but had gained so much, as well. She nodded at him, her brown eyes still full of pity as she turned and left.

He turned with a sigh to his tray of food. It looked absolutely delicious, and it had been a long time since he had eaten. Cautiously, he removed his mask before digging in. He tried to savor the food, but he was ridiculously hungry, and it only took five minutes for him to finish his meal. That was fine, though. He was enjoying watching the kid and his new friends playing together. And, if he were to be perfectly honest, he enjoyed feeling the fresh air and the cool breeze that whispered through the trees and over the ponds on his bare face. As time passed, he noticed the kid’s movements slowing. _I guess it’s time for a nap_ , he thought, almost reluctantly putting his helmet on once more before walking over to collect his favorite little green ball of sleepiness and put him to bed in his cradle. He sat next to the child, watching him sleep, and an unbidden memory (he was having a lot of those lately) of his mother singing a lullaby to him appeared. He couldn’t remember all the words, but he remembered the tune. He felt his heart tighten in his chest both from the memory of his mother and from these emotions he was beginning to feel towards the kid. Deciding to embrace this particular memory, for once, he began to sing the words he knew and hum the ones he didn’t. He almost didn’t hear the knock at the door.

**Cara Dune**

_Sorgan_

Cara honestly couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so soundly. It was almost unnerving. The sound of laughter startled her awake, and she slowly sat up, stretching out her joints that were aching from sleeping in an odd position. A group of children were running around outside of a hut made of woven sticks, playing a game. Most of them looked to be between five and ten years old. She felt sharp pang of grief when she remembered that Cam would have been ten this year. Would he have been as playful and full of joy as these children? She would never know.

The group of children, noticing the arrival of the strangers, all began to crowd around the cart, their attention mostly focused on the tiniest member of their traveling group.

“Looks like they’re happy to see us,” The Mandalorian remarked playfully.

“Looks like,” Cara agreed, watching as more adults arrived to help them unload. Cara did most of the unloading, making sure that the villagers handled the cargo with care.

Stoke turned to her when the unloading process was finished. “Come, let me show you to your quarters.” She followed the man obediently, and as they navigated the village, sometimes walking on the pathways between the ponds where the farmers harvested their krill, he continued to talk to her. “I hope you don’t mind staying in the barn. I didn’t get a chance to clean it out before you came. I didn’t know you were coming, after all,” he let out a snort of laughter. As awkward as this man could be, she was definitely grateful for his hospitality.

“Thank you,” she said with a small nod of gratitude, “I’m sure it will do fine.” 

“Here we are,” Stoke announced, and she looked up to see a hut that looked much like the others, only slightly smaller and cluttered with stuff. “I can get you a blanket, if you need. I know it’s not much but it’s all we have.”

“I would love a blanket, thank you. But please don’t worry; this is perfectly fine,” Cara assured him. Considering some of the places she had hunkered down in as a soldier, this might as well have been a five-star hotel on Coruscant.

He seemed a little taken aback for a moment before he once again gave her a wide, toothy grin. “Well, I’ll leave you to unpack. Feel free to shout if you need anything!” he winked. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she gave him another firm nod, turning to walk into the barn. “Oh!” he called back and she almost jumped out of her skin as she spun around to face him, “Sorry!” he apologized, clearly just as startled as she was, “I just remembered that your friend is staying at Omera’s barn. Two ponds to your left. Ok, that’s all!” He gave a small wave and all but scurried off. Cara couldn’t help but shake her head at the man’s antics.

She turned to examine her quarters for the foreseeable future. As far as barns went, this one was fairly clean. Most of the tools were organized, but a few had fallen on the floor. She dropped her pack in the doorway and began to pick up the tools, placing them where she thought they belonged. She may have grown up on a completely different planet and her family may have participated in a completely different type of farming, but she was fairly certain that she could sort out where the tools were supposed to go.

Finishing the task at hand and feeling satisfied with her work, she began to create a space where she could sleep. Honestly, she could sleep anywhere. Even a small space indoors was better than sleeping under a tree in the pouring rain on a jungle planet or outside on a desert planet during a sandstorm. She grabbed her pack and propped it up against the wall, deciding that it would make a good pillow if she left her clothes in it. She really only had a few sets of clothes, but the rest of her pack contained weapons and a rag with which to clean them. She removed the weapons, setting them aside to clean later, when she spotted the little holo-picture that she carried with her everywhere sitting between some extra socks in her pack. Leaning against the wall, she turned it on. That picture that she had memorized immediately materialized. She smiled sadly for a few minutes, lost in memories before turning it off once more and placing it back in her pack with reverence.

Grabbing a rag, she began to polish her weapons, thinking about their next steps. What if the threat was bigger than they could handle? She wasn’t afraid to die, but she shuddered to think about what would happen if she didn’t die before the villagers or, stars forbid, the children. She didn’t know if she could bear watching that sort of scene play out before her eyes again. She had come to Sorgan to get away from this sort of risky business, but trouble seemed to follow her everywhere she went. And what if the Mandalorian died? Something in the pit of her stomach swirled with dread at the thought. “Well, that won’t happen,” she said aloud, as if her doubts and worries were a separate entity sitting next to her and whispering to her.

She had been so busy with cleaning her weapons that she almost didn’t notice the tray placed on her doorstep. She looked out the barn’s window. The sun had begun to get lower in the sky. _Wow, I didn’t realize so much time had passed,_ she thought with some surprise. She stepped outside onto the porch to eat her food, enjoying the view of the ponds and trees. She closed her eyes, letting the wind caress her face as her ears picked up laughter mixed with baby-like squeals. _Ah, I guess the little green dude made some new friends_ , she thought with some amusement. She allowed herself to enjoy the view and her meal for a bit, but with her weapons polished and ready to go, she knew it was time for she and the Mandalorian to earn their pay (however small). She stood up, placing the empty tray next to her as she went back into the barn to grab some weapons. She probably wouldn’t need a blaster, so she grabbed a few knives and a pistol. Feeling satisfied with her choices, she turned and walked out the door, trying to follow the directions the man gave her to the Mandalorian’s hut, which was a smaller version of the hut right next to it. _That must be Omera’s hut,_ she realized, knocking on the door frame. A woman not too much older than her opened the door. She had long, black hair, olive skin and large, brown eyes that held great sadness.

“Can I help you?” she asked, and her soft voice had a lilt that reminded her of her mother’s voice. It brought a small smile to her face.

“The Mandalorian and I need to go do some reconnaissance. Would you mind watching the kid for us?”

“Of course,” she smiled softly. Cara nodded her thanks and turned towards the barn hut where the Mandalorian was staying.

When she approached the hut, though, she thought she had been mistaken for a moment. She could hear, faintly, humming and singing coming from inside. Curiosity got the better of her, as usual, and she leaned in to get a better listen.

The first thing she noticed was that there was something familiar about the tune. Yes, it was slightly off key, but it was familiar. And she knew the voice was the Mandalorian’s. It wasn’t until she heard him sing a few words that she realized why she recognized the tune.

“Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor. Duérmete pedazo de mi corazón…” Her heart stopped. That song had been a part of her childhood for as long as she could remember. Her mother sung it to her nightly when she was young, and every year her family would sing it in memory of the Djarin family. Cara herself would sing it to Cam, and then to the children at the healing center, and then, holding…

Overwhelmed with emotion, she choked back a sob, covering her mouth quickly to prevent noise from escaping as she leaned against the side of the hut, grateful that no one was out to see her cry. This song had been at the center of almost every tragedy in her life. She didn’t know how the Mandalorian knew this particular lullaby, but the memories the song brought back were almost too much for her. _No,_ she scolded herself, _now is not the time to cry. You have a job to do, and these people are counting on you._ Furiously brushing away her tears and gathering herself once more, she knocked lightly on the entrance to the hut. She heard the singing stop and the Mandalorian stand up, walking towards the entrance. He pulled the curtain aside. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. _Oh?_ She thought, almost insulted. _Way to make a girl feel special, Mando._

“You expecting someone else?” she folded her arms in front of her, leaning on one hip as she raised an eyebrow in question.

“No no no, of course not,” the Mandalorian spluttered. _Liar_.

“We need to do some recon; see if we can figure out what we’re dealing with, here,” she informed him.

“But-“

“I already talked to Omera. She’ll be over in a minute to keep an eye on the kid,” Cara interrupted. He paused.

“Her name is Omera?” he said softly. _Aha!_ Cara was struck with a sudden realization. _Seems like he’s got a little crush on this woman._

“She didn’t tell you?” Cara couldn’t help but taunt him, feeling a little bit of sadistic pleasure at watching the Mandalorian squirm.

“No,” he turned his head away, perhaps embarrassed, his voice barely a whisper. He folded his arms across his chest then, defensively, “What are you implying?”

Cara rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she teased, “Nothing, lover boy. Let’s just get going before it gets dark.”

He froze like he had the night before when he didn’t know what to say. She bit her lip, trying not to let any laughter escape. “Don’t call me that,” the Mandalorian huffed (was he pouting? Cara wish she knew) as he headed back into the barn, presumably for his weapons. He was back a moment later, pulse rifle swung over his shoulders, “Let’s go.”

The two made their way into the woods past the ponds, both of them too busy observing their surroundings to talk to each other. “There,” the Mandalorian abruptly spoke after about ten minutes in almost total silence. Cara walked over to him, leaning over his crouched form to see what he had found.

“Footprints,” she noted, “Let’s follow them.” The two continued on their way, trying to follow the footprints they could see, and she noticed the Mandalorian was looking back and forth at the forest floor with his helmet, likely using the heat signature feature, she supposed. _What I wouldn’t give for a piece of equipment like that,_ Cara thought longingly. When he stopped, she stopped too. He was pointing to the footprints again.

“About 15 or 20 of them came through here on foot.”

 _15 to 20?_ Cara did some mental calculations. _That’s a lot, for sure, but nothing we can’t handle between the two of us._

The Mandalorian looked up then, and she noticed he was scanning the trees around them. “And something big sheared off those branches,” he pointed out. She saw it. She had seen that kind of damage done to trees before, back on Endor. _Fuck, I hope that’s not what I think it is,_ Cara’s stomach dropped. They only walked a few steps before he stopped again, dropping down into a crouch again and Cara’s eyes were drawn to a particularly large print in the dirt. Squatting down next to him, she examined the print very briefly; she knew that print. Her fears had been confirmed.

“AT-ST,” she spoke, trying to hide the terror from her voice. She knew what those mechs were capable of; she had seen the damage first-hand. _This job just got a whole lot more dangerous._

“Imperial Walker,” Din confirmed, “What’s it doing here?” _I was about to say the same thing._

“I don’t know. But this is more than I signed up for.” Cara let out a shuddering breath, willing those memories of the battles, the screams, the sobs and the smells of burnt flesh to go away.

“So what do you propose we do?” She was lost in another time; another world, and barely registered hearing her companion ask a question. “Cara?” His voice was laced with concern as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she couldn’t help but jump at the contact.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, finally responding. “But if that thing is involved, we are _all_ dead.”

“They can’t stay here, then,” the Mandalorian spoke decisively.

“No,” Cara agreed with a heavy sigh, “They can’t.”

“Who’s going to tell them?” he pondered aloud. Cara looked pointedly at him. She wasn’t about to be the one to give them this news. “Let me guess,” he all but groaned.

“It’s all you, Mando,” Cara gave him a small smirk as she patted him on the back. He turned and looked at her, and she could feel the question in the way he tilted his head. “What? Is Mando ok?” she asked, concerned she had offended him, “If not I can just call you ‘dude’ or something.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he nodded, “It just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Well, I have to call you _something,_ ” Cara elbowed him, “Unless you want to be called lover boy again.”

“No,” he said emphatically, and Cara couldn’t hold her laugh in this time.

“Sorry,” she apologized (she didn’t mean it), “I didn’t mean to laugh.”

“Yes you did,” he retorted, “But it’s fine. It’s not often I make a woman laugh.”

“What do you mean? Are most women you meet as serious as you?” she questioned him, curiosity once again getting the better of her. _Curiosity killed the tooka-cat_ , was the phrase she had always heard, and truthfully, she was surprised she wasn’t dead yet given how nosy she was.

“Most of the women I know are Mandalorians,” he shared, “The others just never found me funny, I guess,” he shrugged.

“Huh, that’s a shame. I think you have some potential,” Cara commented jokingly.

“If by ‘potential’, you mean having the ability to embarrass myself at the expense of others’ amusement, I’m not interested,” he scoffed.

“Oh, but you do it so well,” Cara nudged him again, giving him another playful grin. He merely sighed in obvious annoyance, earning another peal of laughter from Cara.

The two finished their walk back to the village in that comfortable silence she enjoyed. “You ready for this?” she asked him as they approached the village. He gave another sigh. _He’s good at that, too,_ Cara thought.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he reluctantly assented. The village folk, noticing the two warriors turned mercenaries returning from their reconnaissance, gathered in front of one of the barn huts, eager to hear their report.

“Bad news,” the Mandalorian announced immediately, “You can’t live here anymore.” His bluntness caused Cara to internally smack her face.

“Nice bedside manner,” she murmured sarcastically into his ear.

“You think you can do better?” he countered.

“Can’t do much worse,” she quipped back. She faced the villagers, “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

“You took the job!” Stoke shouted.

“That was before we knew about the AT-ST,” she informed them.

“What is that?” _Seriously? How do they_ not _know what that is?_

Cara clarified, impatiently, “The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn’t tell us.”

The villagers protested loudly and Cara could feel her frustration rising further alongside theirs.

“We have nowhere to go,” Omera said, in that motherly tone of hers. That reduced Cara’s frustration a little, but only just.

“Sure you do. This is a big planet. I mean, I’ve seen a lot smaller…” Cara was beginning to run out of things to say and her stress levels were skyrocketing. _So much for R &R_, she inwardly grumbled.

“My grandparents seeded these pods!” Caben stated loudly.

“It took generations!” Stoke added. Cara’s anger had now reached an all-time high. She wanted to shout at them that they had no idea what they were talking about. Losing one’s home was _nothing_ compared to losing one’s family. But she thought of how her father would react if he heard this sort of news, and she felt a bit of compassion for these farmers. But they had to understand the severity of the situation.

“I understand. I do. But there are only two of us.”

“No there’s not! There’s at least 20 here!” Stoke responded. _Honestly, this guy…_

“Yeah!” Caben echoed.

“I mean fighters. Be realistic!” Cara was losing her patience quickly, especially with these two men.

“We can learn!” Caben spoke confidently.

“We can!” Stoke nodded vigorously.

“Give us a chance!” Caben begged.

“Please!” Stoke’s voice took on that desperate tone she had heard the night before. But Cara was not having it. These villagers had _no_ idea how messy this could get. And stars help her if she had to witness a blood bath _again._

“I’ve seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes!” Cara yelled, at the end of her rope now and desperate to make them see that they were as good as dead here. For a moment, the only sounds heard were the murmurs of villagers, and Cara was hoping that meant they were starting to see her point.

“We’re not leaving,” Omera’s voice was firm now, and Cara knew she was fighting a losing battle. But she had been a soldier, and soldiers didn’t give up.

“You cannot fight that thing,” she breathed, meeting Omera’s determined gaze with her own as the memories of battles past hit her full force like a ton of bricks.

“Unless we show them how,” she heard the Mandalorian speak, then. She wanted to punch him. _Really? This_ _is you helping me?_ She shot him a glare.

But the villagers liked the idea, and it seemed as if Cara was officially outnumbered.

“Meet here tomorrow at sunrise. We have a lot of work to do,” the Mandalorian instructed the villagers, who all seemed excited as they made their way back to their homes. When they had all left, the Mandalorian walked past her to pick up the kid, sharing a look with Omera that didn’t go unnoticed by Cara before turning around. When he looked up, he met Cara’s steely gaze. Her arms were folded defiantly, her voice absolutely ominous as she stated,

“We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy the lullaby is back! (Don't worry, it will reappear again.) 
> 
> Hope you all are enjoying my story thus far. I know I'm enjoying writing it. :) 
> 
> Stay safe and healthy, all. <3


	9. The Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After doing some reconnaissance and confronting the villagers, Din and Cara have a little "friendly discussion".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I have really appreciated all of your comments and responses. Seriously. Love you all! 
> 
> We will see a little bit of the events from last chapter, but from Din's perspective to start. 
> 
> Yes, Omera's going to be in the Sorgan part of the story, and yes, Din does have a little crush on her, but CaraDin is the endgame, folks!

**Din Djarin**

Fortunately for him, the kid was asleep before he heard the knocks on the door. _Is it the kind woman_? He thought hopefully. He opened the curtain to find Cara Dune standing there, hands on hips in a confident stance.

“Oh, it’s you,” he spoke without thinking. Cara’s eyebrow lifted at the remark and he instantly wanted to take back his reaction, realizing that he sounded disappointed.

“You expecting someone else?” Cara said with mild amusement as she sent him a skeptical look, folding her (ridiculously strong) arms in front of her, hip cocked out to the side. He blushed immediately, somewhat embarrassed.

“No, no, no, of course not!” he blurted. She wasn’t buying it, he could tell. He could see it in those damn expressive eyes of hers. _Great job, Din,_ he mentally chided, _You’ve got two beautiful ladies in your life and you manage to make yourself look like an idiot in front of both of them on the same day. Nice._

“We need to do some recon; see if we can figure out what we’re dealing with, here,” she informed him. _Oh, right._ He started to tell her that he needed to find someone to watch the kid, but she interrupted him, telling him someone named Omera was going to watch him. He realized that moment that she meant the lovely woman whose barn he was occupying. _So that’s her name. What a beautiful name…_

“Her name is Omera?” he whispered, not even realizing he had spoken out loud until Cara responded.

“She didn’t tell you?” He looked up and saw that her eyes held a glint of mischief. _What is she getting at? Does she suspect I am attracted to Omera?_

He crossed his arms almost defensively, trying to keep the embarrassment out of his voice as he asked what she was implying. Cara rolled those mischievous brown eyes, shaking her head as she teased, “Nothing, lover boy. Let’s just get going before it gets dark.” She was biting her lip the way she had at the common house. It was ridiculously cute but he knew she was just trying not to laugh.

Din was simultaneously frustrated and thoroughly embarrassed. “Don’t call me that,” he huffed before turning to grab his pulse rifle. _The nerve of that woman_ , he grumbled internally, _calling me lover boy._ “Let’s go,” he nodded to Cara. Omera arrived as they were leaving, giving him a soft look that had his heart doing cartwheels in his chest. He tried to suppress his reaction, though, knowing that Cara would likely make some sort of jab about it and also knowing he had to stay level-headed. There was no telling what was in these woods.

The two fighters made their way into the woods, side by side as they took in their surroundings, looking for anything out of the ordinary. For a while, it seemed like there was nothing to find, and Din was starting to feel discouraged. Suddenly, he noticed an unusual pattern in the soft dirt. It looked like a footprint. He looked further down and noticed more footprints. “There,” he spoke, bending down to inspect them.

“Footprints,” she acknowledged, “Let’s follow them.” They followed the trail for a bit, but something was off. He could only see one set of prints clearly, but there were several indentations in the dirt that suggested multiple prints. He turned on his heat signature detector. Yup, it was as he thought. He tried counting the different sets of footprints his HUD picked up.

“About 15 or 20 of them came through here on foot.” He decided to look around more to see if there were any more clues. Sure enough, some of the branches and parts of trees above them had been sheared clean off. He felt a sense of dread wash over him. _This isn’t looking good._ He voiced his concerns, “And something big sheared off those branches.”

The two walked only a few feet before he noticed a rather large print in the dirt that didn’t belong to any foot in the galaxy he knew. He bent down to examine it and so did Cara. It looked familiar, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. He glanced over at her to see if she could tell what had made the print, and by the way her jaw was jumping, he knew she did. “AT-ST,” she told him, her voice wavering with unconcealed fear. _Ah, yes. I thought I recognized those prints._

“Imperial Walker,” he confirmed. “What’s it doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Cara’s voice was still shaking as she stood, “But this is more than I signed up for.”

Din agreed. He hadn’t been in any sort of battle with these, but he had heard stories of the damage they caused. He knew that Cara, of all people, likely had firsthand experience with the walking weapon.

“What do you propose we do?” he asked, deciding he would defer to her judgement on this matter. She didn’t answer, and when he looked over at her, he saw that her eyes were glazed over, a blank expression on her face save for the tremble of her lower lip. As he looked closer he noticed for the first time that her eyes were slightly red-rimmed. _Has she been crying_? He realized that she was likely having some kind of flashback, and he knew he had to do something. He reached out tentatively, placing his hand on her shoulder and calling her name, “Cara?” She jumped at the contact, but he had expected that, and had stepped away from her to give her space to reorient herself. She took a few deep breaths before speaking,

“I don’t know. But if this thing is involved, we are all dead.” A chill ran through him at her assessment. He agreed. This was more than the two of them could handle. There was no other option.

“They can’t stay here, then.”

Cara concurred heartily.

“Who’s going to tell them?” he speculated. Cara looked at him very pointedly and he knew his answer. _Oh, great. Why do I always get stuck with these kinds of things?_ He expressed his displeasure with a groan, “Let me guess.”

“It’s all you, Mando,” he heard her say, her tone a bit lighter than it had been a few moments ago. She gave him a hearty pat on the back and it suddenly occurred to him that she had called him Mando, _and_ had touched him on the back (never mind that it was a fairly normal gesture between warriors). Her expression, which had been a smile, changed to a look of concern, “What? Is Mando ok? If not I can just call you ‘dude’ or something.” He wanted to laugh at the thought of her calling him dude. _Hey dude, I need you to cover me! Hey dude, let’s take down some Imps! Hey dude, help me take off my shirt…_ He stopped that particular train of thought before it could derail into flat out fantasizing.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he nodded, mentally kicking himself, “It just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Well, I have to call you _something,_ ” Cara elbowed him lightly, and he gave her a sheepish smile that she couldn’t see, “Unless you want to be called lover boy again.”

His smile quickly faded. _Hell to the no._ “No,” he said sternly, and the woman actually had the _audacity_ to laugh at him!

“Sorry,I didn’t mean to laugh,” she apologized, but she was still giggling as she said this. _Bullshit._

“Yes you did. But it’s fine. It’s not often I make a woman laugh.” _Did I just say that out loud? Damn it Din, think first then open your kriffing flapper!_

“What do you mean? Are most women you meet as serious as you?” _Does she really want to know the answer to that?_

“Most of the women I know are Mandalorians,” he shared honestly, “The others just never found me funny, I guess.”

“Huh, that’s a shame. I think you have some potential,” Cara commented with that same joking tone. _This woman…_

“If by ‘potential’, you mean having the ability to embarrass myself at the expense of others’ amusement, I’m not interested.”

“Oh, but you do it so well,” Cara gave him another nudge, and he caught that gorgeous smile of hers, flirtatious and full of humor. _So infuriating. And gorgeous._ Din sighed heavily.

Once they arrived at the village, he knew it was time to have the tough conversation with the townsfolk. He cleared his throat before speaking in a voice he hoped sounded authoritative, “Bad news,” he informed them, “You can’t live here anymore.” _Damn, that was awful,_ he mentally slapped himself. Cara seemed to agree.

“Nice bedside manner,” she remarked sarcastically. She was right, but she didn’t need to rub it in.

“What, you think you can do better?” he challenged.

“Can’t do much worse,” she bantered right back. Cara launched into a speech then, more or less saying what he said, but the more she tried to make them understand the danger they were putting themselves in, the more they protested. He could see she was getting agitated with the villagers. _This is why I didn’t want to do this,_ he thought. He could sense her frustration rising, especially when they suggested that they help fight.

 _Although,_ Din thought briefly, _That doesn’t sound like a half-bad idea. More hands may actually be better. Given the right training, of course…_

As he thought over this idea, Cara was still trying to convince them to leave, yelling at them that she had seen firsthand what these machines were capable of, and he realized he had to step in. He knew that Cara meant well, but he also knew that these people had pride. Omera’s sweet voice sounded then, but it was firm.

“We aren’t leaving,” she proclaimed, the fire in her eyes meeting the fire in Cara’s.

“You can’t fight that thing,” Cara breathed, and he could see the pain in her expression. The sight of two beautiful women staring each other down was one he was enjoying, not that he would admit that to himself, but he knew it was time to step in, and after seeing Omera’s determination, he knew that they needed to give the villagers a shot. 

“Unless we show them how,” he offered. It was a long shot, he knew, but it was definitely possible, if he and Cara came up with a solid plan. The villagers seemed to agree that it was a good idea, and he ignored the daggers he was sure the former shocktrooper was glaring at him. “Meet here tomorrow at sunrise,” he instructed them, “We have a lot of work to do.” The crowds dispersed, and he could hear them chatting animatedly amongst themselves. He picked up the kid, giving Omera a nod of thanks (one she returned) before turning to face Cara, whose arms were folded and whose expression was as cold as he had ever seen it.

“We need to talk,” her voice was low and threatening and a shiver ran up Din’s spine. _If she’s going to beat my ass, I don’t want the kid to see it._

“Let me put the kid back in his cradle, first,” he told her, making his way past her towards Omera’s barn. She stormed after him and he could feel the anger coming off her in waves. Once he had placed the kid in his cradle and had given him the tiny metal ball from the ship he liked so much to entertain himself, he turned to the woman who currently stood right in the entrance. _I’ll have to face the music sooner or later_ , he realized. As soon as he stepped out and made sure the curtains were closed, she spoke.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” she hissed.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Mando! We agreed on getting the villagers to leave, and then _you_ just had to suggest they play soldier!” she spat, her voice strained as she tried to keep her volume down.

“Well you weren’t getting the job done, Dune,” he crossed his arms over his chest matter-of-factly.

“Are you _kriffing_ kidding me? At least _I_ have decent bedside manner! You _certainly_ weren’t going to convince them!”

“Well what would you have me do then?” he snapped, “As I recall _you_ said you could do it so much better, right?”

“Well I could have used the backup, Mando! Instead you just stood there like a fucking _statue_ and let me take all of the villagers’ anger. Thanks for that,” she bit back derisively.

“I was _thinking_ , Dune. Not all of us open our mouths first and then think later.” _Pot, meet kettle,_ his conscience reminded him. He ignored it, though when she narrowed her eyes, taking menacing steps towards him with arms folded in front of her, he realized that perhaps he shouldn't have. 

“What are you trying to say?” They were standing toe to toe now, her face inches from his. The part of him that wasn’t anticipating a punch to the head decided to remind him of their proximity and the possibilities of being so close to an attractive female. _Not the time!_ He, mentally slapped himself, forcing those traitorous thoughts way way down. He paused, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding as he took a careful step back.

“All I’m saying is that _maybe_ they are right. _Maybe_ we can train them,” he spoke slowly and evenly.

“And if we can’t? Hm?” Cara’s voice was wavering again, “What if this turns into a massacre? I don’t want that kind of blood on my hands,” she shook her head emphatically, “Not again,” she added in a whisper. The two stood in silence for just a moment as she let out a deep breath. “Mando,” she started again, softer this time, “I’ve seen what those AT-STs can do. I’ve watched friends and comrades die because of those things. I’ll be damned if I have to watch that happen again.” Her voice started breaking near the end and she turned away from him. He knew better than anyone how she felt and what she was saying, but they really didn’t have any other choice at this point. It was fight or die. He slowly lowered himself into a seated position, his feet dangling off the patio’s edge.

“Then I guess we’d better come up with a damn good plan,” he patted the spot next to him. She stood there, rigid and unmoving for a few moments before finally relenting with a lowering of her shoulders and a loud sigh, rolling her eyes as turned and sat next to him.

The two spent the better part of the evening putting their heads together to come up with not just a plan of action, but a plan of how to best train these simple farmers with likely little to no experience with weaponry. They had talked and brainstormed late into the night, and Din was starting to feel tired. When Cara let out a long yawn, Din knew that was his cue. “Well, I think we’ve got a good plan in the works,” he declared.

Cara nodded in agreement before adding, “But sunrise comes early, you know.”

“I do,” Din acknowledged. They both made to stand up before Cara spoke up.

“Wait,” she began, a little reluctantly, “I’m sorry,” she muttered, leaning her head heavily into her hands, “I just…”

“I know, I’m sorry, too,” Din placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly, knowing that both of them had said things they shouldn’t have. When he caught her eyes again, he could see the pain from earlier mixed with gratitude as she gave him an affirmative nod. The two held each other’s gazes for a moment before seemingly realizing themselves and breaking eye contact.

“Well,” Cara stood up abruptly, “I better be going to bed.”

“Yup,” Din, not sure what to say, nodded as he, too, stood up.

“Get some good sleep, Mando,” Cara gave him a light punch on the shoulder before walking back to her barn. He stared after her before adding to himself,

“I have a feeling we’re gonna need it.”

**Cara Dune**

_We need to talk_.

As soon as those words left her lips, she noticed the way the Mandalorian stiffened. If she wasn’t so angry at him, she would tease him about being afraid of her. But she wasn’t in a teasing mood. She was _livid._

He made the excuse of needing to put the kid to bed as he walked past her, and she grudgingly admitted that this was a conversation the little guy’s big ears did not need to hear. As soon as he stepped out of his barn, she was ready for him, launching a full scale attack on him with her words, leading with,

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

The two then engaged in a battle of words concerning Mando’s lack of bedside manner and her inability to convince the group to leave. That wasn’t her biggest issue, though. Soldiers were supposed to have each other’s backs, and he didn’t have hers, which meant _she_ had been the sole recipient of the villagers’ anger.

“I was _thinking_ , Dune,” he had responded when she had accused him of this. “Not all of us open our mouths first and then think later.” _The fuck did this guy say? This tin canned asshole is in for it, now. _She took two steps toward him until they were only inches from touching, daring him to make the first move.

“What are you trying to say?” her voice was barely a whisper, but her tone was like ice.

“All I’m saying is that _maybe_ they are right. _Maybe_ we can train them,” he said, his voice beginning to take on a calmer tone as he stepped back. She wanted to believe that this was an option, but in their respective professions, “maybe” could get you killed.

“And if we can’t? Hm? What if this turns into a massacre? I don’t want that kind of blood on my hands,” she told him honestly, feeling vulnerable in front of him as her throat began to tighten, “Not again,” she added in a whisper. “Mando,” she started again, trying to go for a softer tone this time, “I’ve seen what those AT-STs can do. I’ve watched friends and comrades die because of those things. I’ll be damned if I have to watch that happen again.” Tears were building behind her eyes and the lump that was in her throat refused to move, but she wasn’t going to let him see that, so she turned away from him.

He said nothing for a few moments, for which she was grateful, simply sitting down on the edge of the barn’s patio. “Then I guess we’d better come up with a damn good plan,” she heard him say, his calm and even tone breaking the silence. She still didn’t like this idea, but she knew that it would be better if she at least offered her expertise and skills, given that she was the only one with experience in fighting AT-STs. _Fine, I guess we’re doing this_ , she conceded with a loud sigh, rolling her eyes before joining him.

The two took turns sharing ideas, occasionally interrupting each other when a new or better idea presented itself. There was no hostility, though with these interruptions. The two were so like-minded and evenly matched in terms of their knowledge of combat that they didn’t mind the interruptions or questions at all. He would share his idea, Cara would give her thoughts on it, they would revise it if necessary, and vice versa. She found that she _enjoyed_ sitting with him and having these conversations. It had been a long time since she had met someone who listened to and respected her thoughts and opinions. He trusted her, she realized. And she found that she was beginning to trust him, too. As the night wore on into the midnight hour, her mind was exhausted but her heart was full. _Finally_ , here was someone who understood her. She didn’t want to dwell on the implications of that thought. _No attachments, Cara_ , she reminded herself, but her heart was not listening, clearly.

There was finally a lull in the conversation and Cara let out a ridiculously loud yawn, unintentional but perfectly timed.

“Well, I think we’ve got a good plan in the works,” Mando stated, and she knew that the conversation was over, for now.

“But sunrise comes early, you know.”

“I do,” the Mandalorian acknowledged. He made to stand up but Cara realized she had forgotten something rather important.

“Wait…I’m sorry,” she rarely apologized, and she hid her face in her hands as much as possible so he couldn’t see how awkward this was for her. She had been wrong from yelling at him, but she just wanted to make him understand why. “I just…” she began.

“I know. I’m sorry, too,” Mando placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. Her body warmed at the touch and she looked up into the visor of his helmet, hoping she was looking into his eyes as she gave him a nod and a grateful smile.

She must have been right, because the Mandalorian did not break contact with her face and neither did she for a few seconds, both seemingly caught up in this tender moment. _Wait a minute,_ the rational part of her brain was beginning to turn on, and alarms were going off. _Are you trying to get attached to this guy? _That thought shocked her enough that she broke the gaze almost with a jerk, and he did, too. She hoped he couldn’t see her reddened cheeks as she spoke, standing up abruptly, “Well, I better be going to bed.”

“Yup,” the Mandalorian agreed, also standing up with her. Something in the air had shifted, here, and she didn’t like it. Something had to be done.

“Get some good sleep, Mando,” Cara gave him a light punch on the shoulder in an attempt to break the tension before walking back to her barn.

When she got back to her barn, she noticed the blanket right in the entrance and gave a small smile, reminding herself to thank Stoke later. As annoying as she had found the farmer this evening, the man _was_ kind. She immediately grabbed the blanket and made for her makeshift sleeping area, plopping unceremoniously onto the hard floor before draping the blanket over her body and resting her head on her duffel.

Her thoughts were running wild, memories and worries swirling around her mind ceaselessly, keeping her from sleep. She let out a harsh breath of frustration. _I should have known better than to discuss battle plans at night. Now my brain will never shut up. _

The only relief from her worries and concerns were thoughts of the Mandalorian and their interaction this evening. The more she and him spent time together, the more she felt drawn to him. That was dangerous. Everyone she ever got close to in any way _always_ got killed, it seemed. She would not let him suffer the same fate. They couldn’t avoid being around each other, but she knew she had to keep her emotional guard up around him, or else she knew she would become attached. The part of her that craved positive interaction with others was protesting this idea, but she didn’t know if she could bear losing someone else she was attached to again. _I don’t think I’d survive it_ , she told herself, and after a few more hours of tossing and turning, she finally slipped into slumber. 

Sunrise came way too early the next day. A mild rapping at the barn’s entrance startled her awake. “Get up, Dune, time for training,” the Mandalorian’s voice could be heard just outside of the curtain.

“Give me a minute,” she rubbed her eyes sleepily before standing up and stretching. She knew she probably looked a mess, but there wasn’t much she could do about that, so she slathered on some deodorant, put on her chest armor, and shuffled out the door.

“Need some caf?” the Mandalorian held out a tin cup for her, almost like a peace offering and she took it with a wordless nod of thanks. She could feel his amusement at her disheveled appearance, but was too tired to call him out on it. The villagers had all gathered in the same spot as before, and _they_ certainly were awake. _I always forget farmers like to be up at the ass-crack of dawn_. She wasn’t the only one unhappy to be awake. She heard a loud yawn that emanated from the Mandalorian’s vocal processor. Truthfully, she heard it _under_ the helmet, too, it was so loud. Now it was her turn to be amused.

“Don’t say a word,” he all but growled.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” her voice was scratchy from sleep as she threw her hands up in mock surrender. That seemed to satisfy him, and he spoke, running over the plan they had come up with the night before.

“Ok, so the plan is that I’ll start with the assessment, and then you share the battle plan, ok?” he said, and in her current state of exhaustion, she decided just to nod. Cara swallowed the last drops of caf, placing it down on the patio of the barn where the villagers had gathered before approaching them. The villagers, she noticed, were almost vibrating with excitement. She hoped that meant they would be easy to teach.

“You got two problems here,” the Mandalorian began, “You got the bandits, and you got the mech. We’ll handle the AT-ST, but you gotta protect us when they come out of the woods. And I don’t have to tell you how dangerous they are. Cara Dune here was a veteran. She was a drop soldier for the Rebellion and she’s gonna lay out a plan for you. So listen. _Carefully._ ”

Cara gave him a small smile of appreciation, knowing that he was trying to make up for not having her back the night before. She turned to the motley crew, “Now there’s nothing on this planet that can damage the legs on this thing. So we’re gonna build a trap. We’re gonna need to dig real deep right here,” she gestured to the furthest pond, “so when it steps in, it drops. The two of us will hit their camp; provoke them. That’ll bring the fight out of the woods and down here to us.”

The Mandalorian stepped forward to share his part of the plan, “I’m gonna need you to cut down trees and build barricades along these edges. I need it high enough so that they can’t get over, and strong enough so that it can’t break through. Ok, who knows how to shoot?”

No one raised their hands at first, but then, timidly, Omera ( _Really?? The gentle motherly woman??)_ raised her hand. She turned to the Mandalorian, who seemed surprised himself.

“You wanna take her in your group first?” Cara leaned in to ask the Mandalorian. His eyes never left Omera as he gave a small nod, and she saw the woman blush lightly. Cara spoke loudly, “Alright, we’re going to need you all to divide into two groups. One group will be working with me on some basic hand-to-hand combat tactics, while the other half will be working on shooting practice with the Mandalorian.” She waited a moment for the villagers to split themselves up, and then she took her group over to the furthest pond’s edge. Her group included Caben and Stoke and a few other villagers she didn’t recognize.

“All right you all,” Cara rested her hands on her hips as she addressed the group, putting on her best “commander” voice. “This morning we are going to start with some basic stances and self-defense movements, including a leg sweep. Now, you’re going to need to pay attention very carefully, because I will _not_ repeat myself. Do I make myself clear?”

Nods and murmurs were all she could see and hear. _If these villagers want to be soldiers, then they’d better start getting used to being treated like them._ “When you are asked a yes or no question you _will_ respond with ‘ma’am, yes ma’am’. Now, do I make myself clear?” 

“Ma’am, yes ma’am!” the group chorused.

“Good, now drop and give me twenty push-ups.” The group looked at each other oddly. One raised his hand. _Oh geez,_ _what now?_

“But ma’am, I thought we were going to learn how to fight,” the man said tentatively.

“One cannot be a good fighter if one is weak. Now, drop and give me twenty! And don’t let me hear you complain, or it’ll be thirty!”

“Ma’am yes ma’am!” the group shouted, and as the group dropped to the ground to perform the task, the corner of Cara’s lips turned up in a wicked smirk. _This is going to be fun._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear not! We will have Din's thoughts on their little patio conversation next chapter! Thank you again for your kudos and comments! They lift my CaraDin-obsessed heart! <3


	10. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din and Cara start training the villagers and with each other and have some heart to hearts. AKA Din is always going to be awkward with women. Chapter is from Din's POV. Upgrading chapter to M just to be safe. (No sexy times, but uh...Din's awkward ok? Let's leave it at that.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm sorry I'm so late posting; my mental health hasn't been the best and so I haven't been writing as much lately. (I may go back and make some more edits later.) But here you go! 
> 
> Just so you are aware, I made some minor changes to previous chapters. To save you some time, the change I made had to do with the lullaby. Cara's mother had sung the lullaby to her since she was a baby and after Din and his mother left, Cara would call it "The Din Song". This will be important to know later. *wink*wink* 
> 
> I love and cherish all the support you all have given me. Thank you so much! 
> 
> Enjoy Din being an awko taco. ;)  
> (And turning back into a horny teenager)

**Din Djarin**

_Sorgan_

He continued to watch Cara’s form until she disappeared from view before deciding to turn in for the night himself. The kid was asleep, clutching the little metal ball in his tiny hands. Din regarded him affectionately before using one of the blankets to cover his tiny body. He paused a moment, realizing he was going to have to spend another night in his helmet if he was going to be in the same room as the kid. That wasn’t a big deal though; he’d done it before. He also decided to leave his armor on, as well, just in case. Taking the extra blanket, he placed it in the corner and decided to use it as a pillow. It wasn’t comfortable, but it would do. He was well and truly exhausted, but sleep wouldn’t come for the Mandalorian. His mind was swirling with all sorts of thoughts, memories, and emotions that he didn’t really want to address.

For example, he didn’t really want to think about how much he truly liked being in the presence of Cara Dune. Even while arguing, everything felt easy with her. And as they sat and came up with a plan, he found himself actually _enjoying_ the conversation. For one, they both had a vast knowledge about combat strategies, training, and weapons. No, she was _not_ all brawn with no brains. She had a brilliant, creative mind, one that forced him to think outside the box. And the conversation flowed easily; so easily that he hadn’t really realized just how much time had passed. And then there was the hand on the shoulder…

It was an impulsive move. Generally speaking, Din thought things through before making decisions, but lately he felt like he was acting first and thinking second. When he placed his hand on her shoulder, he had done so as a gesture of understanding. He wasn’t expecting her to find his eyes through his mask or give him such a soft look for such a tough warrior. It had thrown him off guard and he had wanted to continue to get lost in those deep dark eyes of hers. She broke the stare first, and he was grateful she had done so. He was surprised how easy it had become to just touch her, even though he barely knew her. _Well, maybe that’s because my introduction to her involved a lot of “touching”,_ he reasoned.

Either way, the way both she and Omera were making him feel was unnerving to say the least. He had sworn off attachments, and yet both of these women, in their own ways, were making it so hard to resist the idea the longer he was around them. He was getting too soft and he knew that was dangerous. The more people he found himself attached to, the more difficult it would be to let go when the time came, and the more emotionally scarred he would become if they were to die. He would have to keep his emotional guard up, without any more of that impulsive touching or speaking business he seemed to struggle with lately. And with that final thought, he fell asleep.

All too soon there was a knock on the door and a voice: Omera’s. “Knock knock,” she spoke softly, “It’s sunrise. I left some food for the child and coffee for Ms. Dune. I can bring you food too, if you’d like. Join us when you’re ready.” 

“Thank you, but I’ll eat later,” he responded, his voice a bit low and gravelly with sleep. The kid began to stir, then, and Din begrudgingly stood up, stretching with a yawn and a bit of a groan as he walked over to fetch the kid’s breakfast. The kid let out a squeal of joy, clapping his hands together as Din fed him the bread.

“You ready to watch me work, little womp rat?” the kid just clapped his hands gleefully and reached out for more bread. In seemingly no time at all, the kid had practically inhaled his breakfast. Walking out with the kid trailing happily behind, he found that the adult villagers were waiting for him in front of the barn they had gathered in front of last night, the children of the village playing in a nearby clearing. An older woman supervised the children, and Din dropped off the kid to play with them with a nod of thanks.

The Mandalorian doubled back to his barn to grab the coffee for Cara before making his way to her barn. He knocked lightly on the door frame. “Get up, Dune. Time for training,” he spoke, realizing he sounded like a parent trying to wake up their teenage child. A low groan of frustration met his ears and Din couldn’t help but smile.

“Give me a minute,” a somewhat hoarse voice responded from somewhere inside. He heard the shocktrooper get up and do a few things before putting on her armor. When she was done she flung open the curtains, and Din couldn’t help but noticed the dark rims under her eyes and how messy her hair had become.

“Need some caf?” he asked, and the woman wordlessly took it from him without so much as an acknowledgement of his existence. Din couldn't help but smile amusedly at her disheveled appearance, looking almost nothing like the fearsome warrior he had encountered a few days before. Too soon he realized he was tired, too, and before he could stop himself a loud, exaggerated yawn escaped him. He could see the corners of that pout turn up into a half smile.

“Don’t say a word,” he spoke, his voice scratchy from sleep.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” she responded. _Yeah, right. You’re just too tired to do so._

Din decided that now was as good a time as any to go over what they had discussed the previous night. “Ok, so the plan is that I’ll start with the assessment, and then you share the battle plan, ok?”

Cara nodded in agreement, taking a long sip of caf before taking a deep breath. Din envied her. He _really_ could use some caf himself, being so tired, but they didn’t have time for him to go off on his own to have it. He would get some later, he decided.

The villagers were waiting in the same spot as they had been the night before, eagerly awaiting orders. Cara finished her caf, setting it down before turning to the villagers, her face no longer reflecting exhaustion but determination and alertness. _Like she flipped a damn switch_ , he thought with a touch of admiration.  
  


Din turned to address the group in his most commanding voice, “You got two problems here. You got the bandits, and you got the mech. We’ll handle the AT-ST, but you gotta protect us when they come out of the woods. And I don’t have to tell you how dangerous they are. Cara Dune here was a veteran. She was a drop soldier for the Rebellion and she’s gonna lay out a plan for you. So listen. _Carefully._ ” 

Cara gave him a nod of appreciation before continuing, and he knew that all was forgiven from last night. She laid out part of their detailed plan for the group before Din laid out the rest. When he asked if anyone had shot a gun before, Omera’s hand casually lifted, and Din’s jaw practically hit the floor in surprise. _This woman- this sweet, caring woman…can shoot?!? Damn. _

Cara seemed surprised, too, but knowing Cara, she had to use this moment to poke a little fun. “You want her in your group, first?” She leaned in to ask. He could only nod, dumbly, still too surprised to come up with a witty retort. Cara called her group together then, and her group moved to the furthest pond on the end.

“Ok,” Din turned to his group, “We are going to create some targets for target practice. I have the guns, now you all find some pots or pans or something in your house that can deflect blaster fire.” As the group scattered, he turned his eyes to Cara, who was shouting at her group to drop and give her 20 push-ups. He could hear the group shouting, “Ma’am, yes ma’am!” in response and could see by that sly grin of hers that she was enjoying herself. In all honesty, so was Din. Watching her take command of a group, her hands on her hips as she continued to shout out orders was more than a little appealing to Din’s baser instincts. He had a feeling he’d do anything this woman asked. _Anything?_ That evil, traitorous part of his brain was back, supplying him with images and fantasies of this woman commanding him to do all sorts of things…

“Is this ok?” a voice inquired from his right, pulling him out of his fantasy. One of the villagers held a frying pan in her hand.

“Perfect. Help me make a target range.” The group spent the first 30 minutes of their time creating a long line of pans attached by small pieces of rope to a large stick that was anchored on either side into the ground. Once that was finished, he had the villagers make a line in front of the targets. He taught them safety techniques first before teaching them the proper stance when firing a gun as well as how to aim. “Now,” he commanded them, “Shoot your target ten times and we’ll see how good your aim is.” The group shot their targets ten times, as he commanded, but only Omera hit the target all ten times. _Damn_ , he thought, _this woman is literally perfect._ He couldn’t help but lean in closer to her in awe. She gave him an almost coquettish look of silent questioning, and he nodded his approval, feeling his heart soar. _No Din,_ he had had to reprimand himself, _No attachments!_ His heart clearly wasn’t listening, much to his frustration. Shoving that emotion out of his mind (for what felt like the millionth time that week) he turned to his group and instructed them to reset and trade weapons (after turning the safeties on, of course). While they were doing that, he decided to distract himself by looking over to see what Cara was doing.

Cara had her group doing leg sweeps, allowing them to use her as an example. Her face was hard and all business when she gave instructions or critiques but soft and approving when one of her “trainees” performed a move correctly. She was tough, to be sure, but fair. Din wondered vaguely if she had held a position of authority in the Rebellion, given how natural she was at training these civilians. He turned back to his group, all lined up and ready.

“Ok, everyone,” he spoke, copying Cara’s stance with his hands on his hips, “Ten shots.” He double checked their stances, correcting them if necessary, before issuing his next commands, “Ready. Aim. Fire.” Omera _still_ wasn’t missing, and he noticed the constant pinging of blaster bolts on metal caught Cara’s attention as well. He noticed her from the corner of his eye looking over at him, eyebrows raised in surprise as she gave him a wink and a thumbs up before turning back to her group. Din only rolled his eyes in response, even though she couldn’t see.

They trained all through the morning before breaking for lunch. The two warriors sent their groups off before meeting with each other back at the barn. Omera came by and brought them both lunch, and he saw Cara give her the demurest smile she could manage as she thanked her. He had never seen or heard Cara act so much like a…lady. It intrigued him. Omera had given her a sweet smile in return and then had given him a more private, affectionate look. It moved him, given that another woman hadn’t looked at him like that since his own mother. It stunned him into stillness, and it took him a moment to compose himself.

“You gonna eat the soup, Mando?” he heard Cara ask, gesturing to his bowl of stew with her own, a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes.

“Yeah, in a minute.”

“Go ahead,” she motioned with her head toward the barn behind her, “If you eat in the barn I won’t peek.”

It had been literally years since he had eaten in the presence of another person. (It had been Kavin, actually.) He didn’t even eat amongst any of his other Mandalorian brothers, preferring to take his meals completely alone. Could he trust this woman? They would be in two separate rooms, after all. She wouldn’t dare come into the barn…would she?

As if sensing his discomfort, Cara spoke again, “Look Mando, I'm not gonna go in there. I know I tried to kill you a few days ago but I'm not _that_ bad of a person. I respect your way of life, ok? Can you trust me?" Din hesitantly met her eyes with his own and he could see she was serious. He nodded. 

"Yes," he spoke.

“Good,” she nodded, pushing his food toward him, “Go in there and eat and I’ll guard the curtain. I want to hear your report on how training is going.” Hesitantly, he took the food, walking into the barn before sitting against the wall on the other side of some boxes by the entrance (just to be extra cautious), back to his…friend? Companion? Comrade? He wasn’t sure what she was to him just yet, and he wasn’t ready to think about that now. “So,” she began when she heard him remove his helmet. 

“So,” Din repeated.

“So how was training this morning?”

“It went well,” he said, taking a sip of soup.

“Any promising candidates for gun duty?”

“Besides Omera?” he said lightheartedly.

“Yeah,” she gave a small laugh, “Besides her.” 

“There are a few. But they need more training. How about you? You seemed to be enjoying yourself there, Commander Dune,” he commented in jest.

“Well,” she gave a small laugh and a loud sigh, as if she was thinking deeply, “Most of them are doing pretty well, but we haven’t gotten to the hard stuff yet. Do you want your group to dig the ponds or should mine?”

“Since the ponds were your idea and the barricades mine, why don’t your villagers do the pond-digging and mine will make the barricades.”  
  


“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed, and he heard her sip her water, “But Mando, I have to be honest with you, I’m not feeling very confident in our plan,” she confided.

“Me neither,” he sighed, “But if we keep working with them and our part of the plan goes well, we should be able to get the job done.”

“I hope you’re right,” she sighed. They spent the rest of the meal eating quietly, the only sounds the sounds of their chewing. Once he was finished, he replaced his helmet on his head and exited the barn, sitting next to her with his empty tray between them. She didn’t even turn to acknowledge him, seemingly deep in thought. “You know,” she began slowly, “We ought to do some training ourselves, just to stay sharp.”

 _I hadn’t thought about that, but she’s right,_ “I agree. And I think we should focus on hand-to-hand combat, just in case we run into any problems at the camp.”

“True,” she nodded, before adding, glancing at him impishly, “But I’m not the one who needs the training, you know?” She punched him in the shoulder lightly.

“That was only once, Dune,” Din pointed out, turning to wag a finger at her, “ _Once_.” She shoved his finger out of the way.  
  


“Yeah, whatever, Mando,” she waved her hand dismissively before taking one last gulp of water, “It’ll be twice after dinner tonight.”

“Twice, huh? We’ll see about that,” Din quipped.

She smirked challengingly back at him before stacking their dishes on their tray and standing up to take them back to Omera, sashaying away with an exaggerated sway of her hips. _Oh, that's how you want to play, huh?_ “If you're trying to distract me, it’s not going to work!” he called after her. Her only response to that comment was to flip him off without even turning around. He shook his head. _I swear, this woman is going to kill me, one way or another._

The two warriors plus their villagers-in-training took to their tasks in the afternoon, digging further into the ponds and creating a barricade with logs and twine. Din and Cara both dove right into work with the rest of the group, stopping when they did for water breaks. (Din had to stop to feed the kid, as well.) By the time the sun had begun to set, the groups had made some great progress. Cara’s group had accomplished their goal, and Din’s group had nearly finished their construction of the barricades.

“Ok, everyone,” Din turned to his group, “We will finish this tomorrow. Great work today.” Everyone smiled, satisfied with their work, wiping their brows as each took turns to thank Din for his help. He looked over to see Cara doing the same. Cara’s boots and pants were practically covered in dirt, as were her arms. She even had a few smudges of dirt on her cheeks, and some of her chestnut locks were plastered to her face from all the sweat rolling down her forehead. She glanced over at him and gave him a subtle wink before the two made their way back to Din’s barn for a rest.

“Those barricades are coming along,” Cara commented approvingly.

“Yes, they are. And I think you all finished digging into those ponds in record time,” Din pointed out.

“Yeah, well, we all worked hard today,” Cara’s flush from the hard work deepened red at the compliment. The two finished their journey back to the barn in silence and they found, to their delight, that there was another platter of food set out, “Oh thank goodness,” she sighed in relief, “I was getting really hungry, there.”

“Let me go get the kid and we’ll talk a bit while you all eat,” Din turned towards the clearing where the kids were playing some kind of game with a small ball.

“What about you?” Cara asked.

“I’ll eat after I kick your ass.”

“I’m sure you meant after I kick _your_ ass,” Cara corrected smugly.

“You heard me, Dune.”

As he made his way to the clearing, she called back, “You wish!” He shook his head in silent laughter as he approached the kid.

“Hey, womp rat, did you listen today?” he picked him up before turning to the woman who had supervised the children.

“He did wonderfully,” she smiled, “He fits right in with the children here.” Din’s heart gave a little squeeze when he realized the implication. _He could stay here_.

“He does,” he agreed quietly, “Thank you for watching him.”

“Anytime,” the woman waved jovially at the pair.

“Are you ready for some dinner?” Din turned to the kid resting in his arms, “Cara’s keeping watch over it for us. I hope.”

The kid gave a little coo of excitement when the scent of the food filled the air. When they got back to the barn Cara was inside with their food. “Don’t worry, I didn’t eat any of yours,” she assured him with a wink. Din almost rolled his eyes as he grabbed the kid’s plate. He began to feed the kid and Cara continued, “I feel like we made a lot of progress today. What do you think?”

“Yes, we did,” Din agreed, “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“You get my group for target practice and I get yours. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll switch and then before dinner we’ll finish those barricades. Sound good to you?” Cara offered.

“Sounds great, actually,” Din said, “As long as we can get a bath at some point. I smell nasty.”

“I know, I can smell you from here,” Cara laughed as she dipped her bread in her stew. Before Din could retort she added, “But your B.O. has nothing on mine at the moment. If I don’t have a bath soon I’m pretty sure I’ll scare off any raiders with my scent.”

Din shook his head in disbelief at Cara’s self-deprecating humor, even letting out a small snort himself. Soon, both Cara and the kid had finished with their meals. “I’m going to put him to bed if you don’t mind,” he said then.

“No, no, you’re fine,” Cara pushed her hair behind her ears, attempting to brush off the dirt on her face, “Besides,” she added as she stacked hers and the kids dishes on the tray next to his food, “I need some time to digest. Take your time,” she gave him a smile and a nod as she exited the curtains.

“Alright, kid, you know what time it is,” Din told the kid, who gave a little whine of protest, “No ifs, ands, or buts,” he scolded him, “Now lay down and I’ll sing that song again.” The song had worked remarkably well last time, so even if it caused him some emotional pain, he knew it was the most efficient way to get the kid to go to sleep.  
  
“Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor

Duérmete pedazo de me corazón

Este niño mío ….hm hm hm hm hm

Hmm hmm hmmm hmmm a pasear en coche

Este niño mío ….hmm hmm hmmm hmm hmmm

Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmmmmm hmmmm a la dulcería

Duérmete mi niño, duérmete mi amor

Duérmete pedazo de me corazón.”

The kid was out like a light by the time he finished his song, and he stepped outside to find Cara next to the barn stretching. The playful look in her eyes was replaced by a pensive look, and even though she was going through the motions of stretching, he could tell her mind was somewhere else.

“You ready?” he asked, and he saw her jump.

“Yeah, of course,” her eyes lit up again and he saw her give a smile, though he noticed the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. He knew she was hiding something from him, but he didn’t really feel like talking about it. Everyone had secrets, himself included, so who was he to judge?

Once the two reached the field where they were to spar decided to begin , Din went in straight away, and she deflected his movements easily, even landing a hard kick to his head. _Fuck, I can't let her beat me again!_ he exclaimed internally. Frustrated, he decided to throw a punch to distract her before grabbing her hair with his other hand. 

In hindsight, he wasn't quite sure why he grabbed her hair. In a sparring match this was considered a dirty move, but he was determined to prove himself. 

"Fuck," she swore as he yanked on her hair, her voice coming out as more of a groan than an exclamation of pain and suddenly, he imagined pulling her hair in an entirely situation, perhaps with her back to him, hands and knees on the floor as he grabbed her naked ass with his other hand and--

Before he could continue that train of thought, Cara had grabbed him by the arm, pinching some nerve that caused him to let go of her hair. She then twisted his arm violently before easing her grip enough so he could yank it free.

“That’s what you get! That was a dirty move!” she pointed to him accusingly. She was right, but he wasn't about to admit that. He _especially_ wasn't going to let on that he had basically just fantasized about them having sex in the middle of a sparring match.

“Those Klatoonians may fight dirty. We must be prepared for everything,” he tried to explain, but he knew that she knew he was full of shit. _That move was  useful, though, _he admitted to himself, and knowing he needed to redeem himself, he decided to lay down his pride for a moment. "I want you to show me how you did that." 

Her eyes went wide and she blinked several times, seemingly taken aback before simply saying, "Ok."

The two spent the next several minutes sparring, with Cara occasionally stopping every now and then to correct his stance or teach him another move to disarm or subdue his opponent. They had practiced, even at the expense of their sore muscles and joints, until the sun had lowered itself past the horizon and the only lights were the lights of the moon and stars.

Had it been any other occasion besides a sparring match, and had they been any other people, Din may have found this environment romantic.

Not that he would ever tell her (especially after what happened with the hair-pulling earlier), but he enjoyed being pinned by her, and he knew by that undisguised feral glimmer in her eyes that she enjoyed it, too. After allowing him to pin her several times while he perfected a move, she finally pulled out all the stops and did not hold back. Several rounds later (in which she pinned him, often painfully), he _finally_ was able to pin her himself. He had pinned her arms above her head, his hips straddling hers as he wrapped his legs around each of hers to prevent them from moving. Her only movement was to press her body up and out, to no avail. He almost laughed at her attempts, but then he realized their position. She was pressing her _whole body_ into his, and even though it was presumably meant to throw him off balance, he was beginning to feel a different kind of energy; a sexual energy as he felt her soft breasts pressed against his chest... _What the fuck, Din?! Stop fantasizing!_ He mentally scolded himself. But it was too late, in the instant he had relaxed his grip slightly, she had grabbed his arms and, using the force of her body, had thrown her body into his, knocking him off balance. Soon _she_ was the one on top, straddling him in the same position, though she decided to use both her arms to hold his above his head.

“Ha!” she exclaimed victoriously, and then an odd expression crossed her face as she slid her torso back and forth on his-

 _Fuck_ , he swore. He hadn’t realized that he was so aroused, but now she knew, too, to his embarrassment. Taking advantage of her confusion, he threw her off him, almost violently, scrambling backwards until he had put some space between them. She sat up slowly, a snide grin on her face.

“Oh, so you _like_ getting pinned huh?” she winked.

“Shut up, Dune. I can’t control that stuff,” he grumbled, “Let’s just forget that happened.”

“If you say so,” she said in a singsong tone. Din all but growled. “Look,” she continued seriously as she stood, “It’s no big deal, ok? Could’ve happened to anyone. I’m just teasing you.”

She reached out to help him up. He batted her hand away, still embarrassed and frustrated with his body’s betrayal. That didn’t seem to bother her as she shrugged, “Fine, suit yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she waved with that playful smile on her face. She turned and walked away, then, and he could hear her giggling all the way back to her barn.

“Insufferable woman,” he muttered as he shuffled into his own barn, eating his meal with his back to the (still sleeping) kid in record time before replacing his helmet and laying down. The last thought on his mind before he went to sleep was, _Please let Dune not bring this up tomorrow._

Whatever gods were out there must have heard his plea because Dune didn’t bring up what happened the next day. And there was more good fortune, as Din and Cara were able to bathe for the first time, though Cara bathed in the morning and Din in the evening. 

The days passed without mention of the incident (though also without another bath), and the two of them had fallen into a daily routine of training the villagers, eating, training them some more, eating again, training with each other, and occasionally revising training or battle plans until late into the night. 

Finally, on the fifth evening of this routine, the two warriors got to bathe again (to everyone’s delight), and it was on this day that he saw Cara Dune’s hair without braids for the first time.

Cara had spent the day teaching the villagers weapons training using sticks whittled into points, and Din had continued assisting them with weapons training. They had already lightly sparred (without any more incidents; Din was careful to keep his mind as clear of sexual thoughts as possible). The barricade and ponds were ready, and tomorrow morning the two of them would divide the villagers into groups for the actual battle and rehearse it with them before the actual battle tomorrow night.

Din had gone down to the creek to bathe first, and all of the villagers and Cara had given him privacy. He had faced away from the village, anyways, as a precautionary measure. Once he had finished washing himself and changing into fresh clothes, he washed his under armor, hanging it on a nearby clothesline before wiping down his helmet. After completing that task (and placing the helmet back on his head), he gathered his bag of beskar and hauled it up the hill to where Dune was waiting for him, back turned to him and eyes on the working villagers. “Your turn,” he spoke, and she turned around quickly, fists raised before giving him a small smile of recognition as she took in his appearance.

“You smell better,” she commented as she lowered her fists.

“I should hope so,” he responded, smoothing his shirt down self-consciously as he realized Cara hadn’t seen him without full armor before. He would sit here, eyes on the villagers, and polish his armor while she bathed. Patting his shoulder, she wordlessly gathered her things and walked down to the creek. When she returned ten minutes later, she, too, was wearing a clean pair of pants and a fresh black shirt, chest armor in her hand. What caught him most off-guard was her wet hair, hanging limply around her face. He hadn’t seen her with all of her hair fully down, and even with her hair as wet and uncombed as it was, it was a good look for her. He hadn’t realized he had been staring until she looked away, a small blush on her cheeks. The two walked back, armor in hand, to the barn, where Omera had handed the kid off to Din to put to sleep. Cara waited on the patio patiently as Din rocked the child, singing and humming that song until the little green child’s large black eyes fluttered closed in slumber. Din tiptoed outside to find Cara on the patio, hair in her hand as she braided it furiously.

She wore that look she always wore after he put the kid to sleep. It was a look of longing mixed with pain and even though it confused him, he didn’t want to ask. It took her no time at all to finish her braid, pinning it under the rest of her hair, which had dried a bit. Din was mildly impressed at her skill. Most women would need a mirror to do their own hair, but she was doing it blindly, going through the motions he was sure she went through every single day. She broke the silence, this time.

“What’s that song you were singing?” she asked, eyes still trained straight in front of her as she smoothed the other side of her hair down.

“What song?”

“You know,” she huffed, “the song you sing to the kid before you go to bed.”

In the few days the two had known each other, he hadn’t heard Cara ask him many questions. This one surprised him. _Why would she care about a child’s lullaby?_ Rather than answer the question, he fired one at her, “Why do you ask?”

He saw a flicker of frustration and hurt cross her features momentarily before disappearing just as quickly, “Just curious.”

Din decided to go for honesty, more or less, “I’ve known it since childhood.”

“What language is that?” she turned to him inquisitively now, “It didn’t sound like Mando’a.”

“It isn’t,” Din confirmed, his voice somewhat curt. He didn’t talk about his past, period. Omera’s question had been the one exception, and even now he was regretting his decision to share, knowing he had just made himself more vulnerable to her. His soul craved vulnerability, but his mind rejected it vehemently. Becoming vulnerable to another being could cost him his life, and it was seen as a sign of weakness amongst many in the remnant of his clan, especially Paz.

She let out a heavy breath of exasperation, “I know _that_. I’m asking how you knew this song if it wasn’t in your native tongue.”

She was pressing him, and Din was losing his patience, “Why do you care so much about a stupid lullaby?” She whirled around to face him at those words, and though she tried to mask it, her eyes were heavy with unshed tears and pain.

“You know what? Forget about it,” she picked up her chest piece before violently scrubbing it with a rag, “You and your damn _secrets_.”

“As if you don’t have secrets?” he fired back, “You won’t even tell me why this is so important to you.”

“It’s _not,_ ok?” she snapped, tossing the rag on the floor, “Can’t even ask a damn question without you getting defensive.”

“Same to you,” he retorted hotly. The two sat, stewing in angry silence as they cleaned and polished their armor and weaponry.

“I’ve heard that song before. That’s why I asked,” she spoke then, so quietly he thought he hadn’t actually heard her speak at all. He turned to her in surprise. _How could she know that song? Is she from the same planet as me? _Now _he_ was curious.

“Where?” he asked, just as quietly, trying to school his voice into one of nonchalance.

“I was a kid. Not my native language, though.” _So she isn’t from my planet yet she knows this song. Interesting._ Realizing she had (for the most part) answered his question, he knew it was only fair he answer hers, too.

“It is mine,” he spoke reluctantly, “I am not a native to Mandalore. I am-or rather, I was- a foundling.”

Cara nodded slowly in understanding, and then turned back to her work. There was still a question in her eyes, but thankfully, she chose not to ask it. The two worked in quiet, both absorbing this new piece of information they had learned in until it came time to divide the villagers.

They compared notes and discussed the individual villagers’ strengths before deciding on each villagers’ roles. They didn’t have a data pad or even the archaic pen and paper but they did write names in the dirt with some spare sticks and finalized their plans with drawings. Din knew most people would find this process boring, but not Cara Dune. Her face was animated as the two literally drew their final battle plans and discussed what each villager would do. When they were done, they bid each other farewell as they turned to their respective barns.

According to the villagers, they had two days before the raiders struck again. Well, that wasn’t going to happen.

Tomorrow morning was the rehearsal, but tomorrow night was the big show. Tomorrow all the training and battle plans would be put into action.

Din could only hope for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Support your local CaraDin writer with lots of love and comments. Or just read and enjoy. I'm just happy you're here. :)
> 
> Cara's POV coming soon!


	11. Vivo e combatte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's Cara's perspective on the previous chapter's events...nd then some. I'm back, baby!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Long time no write! No...seriously...it's been crazy these last few months. I'm a teacher teaching virtually in the U.S. and it has been SUPER stressful. However, I was determined to get this chapter out to you all BEFORE the premiere of the new season, so I have officially achieved my goal! 
> 
> Only one translation for this chapter:   
> Vivo e combatte per la mia famiglia.- I live and fight for my family. (LadyVibeke if that's not correct, I apologize!) 
> 
> No matter what happens in season 2, this story will continue!

**Cara**

_Sorgan_

The rest of the morning was spent doing conditioning exercises along with basic blocks and leg sweeps. Cara wouldn’t admit it out loud, but she actually really liked training these “recruits”. She had been a commander in the Rebellion, but she had never done actual _training_ before like the boot camp drill commanders did. Nevertheless, she found that she felt oddly proud of how quickly the farmers were picking up these moves and how attentive they were to her direction. Distantly, she could hear the Mandalorian’s group practicing shooting, but she tuned them out until her group stopped to take a break, and she heard a consistent pinging sound, like the sound of a blaster repeatedly hitting metal. She turned towards the sound and saw that it was Omera. _Wow, girl can handle a gun,_ she thought, raising her eyebrows, both surprised and impressed. Mando noticed her group had stopped and had caught her looking at his group and his equally awed reaction to Omera’s skills. She gave him a wink and a thumbs up and somehow she knew by the exaggerated way he turned his head back towards his group that he was rolling his eyes. After a few more hours of practicing, she noticed that the sun was directly overhead and realized that it was time for a lunch break. “Alright, you all, great work this morning. Go eat lunch and when you come back, we will be working on digging up the pond. You are dismissed.”

“Ma’am yes ma’am!” they chorused before running off to their respective huts for lunch. She noticed Mando giving his group a similar speech before turning towards her. He gave her a nod and the two headed back to his hut for lunch, prepared by one of the older village women. Cara immediately sat down with a heavy sigh, relieved to finally be taking a break. Mando did the same. Omera approached them with their food on a tray (not made by her, but Cara had a feeling she wanted to serve it just to see Mando), and Cara took her portion from her with a “thank you” and a polite, appreciative smile that she knew her mother would be proud of, and she noticed Omera smiling back the same way. She also noticed that when Omera turned to Mando (who had been eyeing Cara with an odd tilt of his head), she gave him a much warmer look; the look of a woman who cared deeply for someone. Mando had stuttered again, and she turned away, sipping her water so as not to betray her amused reaction. When Omera left he was still sitting there, unmoving as he watched her walk away. _This man is helpless_ , she shook her head.   
  


“You gonna eat the soup, Mando?” Cara gestured to the soup next to him and Mando’s attention was finally turned back to her. He told her he would eat it later, but she knew that Mando hadn’t eaten anything at all that day. Normally she would just go off and eat on her own, but the two needed to do some breaking down of this morning’s training and discuss the afternoon. An idea came to her, then. He could eat as long as no one saw him, right? So why couldn’t he eat inside while she sat outside? She offered her idea to Mando. He hesitated. She could understand completely. Trust took a long time to earn, and the two did not know each other well. But they really didn’t have a lot of time to build that trust up, and Cara knew she was going to have to rush the process, much as they both (with all their trust issues) hated it. She assured him that she wouldn’t peek and after a few moments, Mando finally relented. She waited until he was inside with his food, firmly situated and helmet off before asking about how the morning went.

They both could agree that Omera was skilled with a blaster, and would definitely be on gun duty. (Of course; was that even a question?) Mando then commented on how much Cara seemed to enjoy taking on the role of teacher and trainer and even called her “Commander Dune”. She froze for half a second, realizing that it had been almost four years since she had heard that name. She laughed softly; sadly, a feeling of both grief and fondness spreading in her chest at the memory of her team, many of whom had died in battle. 

She then gave her report on her group to Mando, and although her group was doing well, Cara couldn’t shake this nagging worry that this battle could go very wrong. After all, they were working with limited time before the next attack and would not be able to truly adequately train the farmers. She expressed her concern about the plan to Mando, who echoed her sentiments but added they would just have to do their best. It wasn’t necessarily reassuring, but it was the truth. They could only do their best.

As they finished their lunch in silence, Cara thought about her and Mando’s role in the battle. They would have to go to the Klatoonians’ camp and provoke them with a detonator, but hopefully that was the extent of it and they would be able to sneak in and out to blow up one of their buildings without being noticed. However, there was the very real possibility that they would need to engage the Klatoonians in hand-to-hand combat _prior_ to provoking the Klatoonians (and the AT-ST) into chasing the pair all the way to the village. If all went according to plan, the AT-ST and Klatoonians would be ambushed by the villagers when they arrived and the AT-ST would go down hard in the pond.

Now, both she and Mando were very skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but they had never worked together before, something that would be pivotal in helping the first part of the plan go smoothly. They would need to train together.

Mando stepped outside, sitting on the opposite side of the empty tray when she expressed this sentiment to him. He paused momentarily before agreeing, pointing out that hand-to-hand combat would be the best form of training for this particular mission.

“True,” she agreed, before deciding to tease him a little, “But I’m not the one who needs the training, you know?” She punched him in the shoulder, a gesture she hoped would convey that her statement was made in jest.

“That was only once, Dune,” Mando pointed out, turning to wag a finger at her, “ _Once_.” His gloved finger was literally one inch from her nose. Suppressing a laugh, Cara rolled her eyes, shoving his finger away, knowing that he wasn’t _actually_ upset or angered. (Ok, maybe he was a little bit sensitive about being bested in hand to hand combat by a woman-she couldn’t blame him, though.)

“Yeah, whatever, Mando,” she waved her hand dismissively before taking one last gulp of water, “It’ll be twice after dinner tonight.”

She held up two fingers to his face mask where she assumed _his_ nose was.

“Twice, huh? We’ll see about that,” Din challenged, unflinching as he crossed his arms in front of him, and she imagined that he was probably smirking under that helmet. She met his challenge with a smirk of her own before gathering their dishes on the tray and walking toward Omera’s hut. And if she swayed her hips slightly more than usual, it was purely a coincidence. She wasn’t trying to be flirty. Not at all. Never. (That’s what she told herself, anyways.)

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s not going to work!” She overheard the Mandalorian call from behind her, so she responded the only way she knew how: with an emphatic one-finger salute. She didn’t even bother turning around to see his reaction, but she could imagine him shaking his head at her antics. 

When she got to Omera’s door, she knocked lightly, tray balanced precariously in one hand. Omera opened it almost immediately.

“Ah! Ms. Dune! Please come in,” the woman smiled softly, her eyes warm and welcoming as she stepped back to allow Cara entry. Cara couldn’t remember the last time she was called Ms. Dune. Probably not since she was a university student. It felt odd.

“Please, call me Cara,” Cara spoke, blushing lightly out of discomfort.

“Oh! Of course…Cara,” Omera spoke slowly as she tested Cara’s first name on her tongue, taking the tray from Cara’s hand with a nod of her head. Cara turned to leave as the woman walked over to the sink. “Ms. Dune…I mean, Cara…may I ask you a question?” she began haltingly. Cara stopped, turning back to face her.

“Sure.”

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping but…did you grow up on a farm?”

Cara felt all the blood drain from her face, her heart dropping down into her stomach. _How did she know?_ “Why do you ask?” she queried softly, hoping her voice didn’t betray her surprise at Omera’s astute observation.

“Yesterday, when you arrived, you picked up tools Stoke had left on the ground-he really is not the most organized man- and put them away.”

“I was trying to be a good guest,” she explained. It was the truth.

“Yes, but…how did you know where they went?”

“I guessed,” Cara shrugged. Again, it wasn’t untrue, “I just put them away where I thought they would go based on appearance.”

“Well, it was a very educated guess,” Omera turned to start washing a bowl, “Most people wouldn’t even recognize those tools.”

“I was a soldier. It was my job to be good with tools,” Cara hoped her explanation would satisfy the curious widow.

“I’m sure,” Omera nodded slowly. “But you have calluses on your hands,” she gestured with one hand holding a rag cloth to Cara’s hands, “Not ones a soldier would have simply from holding a blaster or other weaponry, I expect. Those are calluses that have built up over time. Your hands have seen hard work your whole life.”

Damn. Cara had no response this time. As a rule, Cara _never_ talked about her past or her childhood with anyone since she became a soldier, and even then, very _very_ few people knew anything beyond the fact that she was from Alderaan.

These days, even that remained mum.

Maris was the only one she shared her past with, really.

Yet this widow was more observant than Cara or likely even Mando gave her credit for, and it honestly freaked her out a little bit. She must’ve looked worried because the widow spoke, reassuringly,

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” Woman to woman, Cara understood the message: _I won’t tell the Mandalorian._ Cara knew she wouldn’t, instinctively. Maybe that was why, for some stupid, odd, reason, she blurted,

“You’re right. My family had a farm. We raised fathiers and nerfs and my mother had a garden.” For the first time in forever, she allowed a very small smile to come to her face at the memories.

Omera remained silent, smiling softly, “I figured it was something like that. Does your family still farm?”

Cara looked away, then, unable to hold her gaze, the sadness and grief creeping in again, “No,” she spoke with a heavy sigh, “I have to go now. Thank you for taking care of us,” she bowed her head slightly before turning and all but running out the door.

The minute she was outside of Omera’s door, she stopped and leaned over, hands on her knees to collect herself. She hadn’t let the words “my family” leave her mouth in literal years. It was a lot to deal with, and she took a moment to refocus her mind on the present. _Why does grief always hit me at the worst times?_ She questioned with a shake of her head. Noticing some people (Mando included) exiting their respective huts, she straightened up. Some of her group had already grabbed some shovels to help dig and had already begun heading to the area she had mentioned that morning. Mando approached her.

“Looks like your group is already at it,” he noted with a small nod towards her group, which had now begun digging.

“They’re hard workers,” she agreed, but couldn’t help but add, challengingly, “Bet we’ll finish before you,” she winked.

“It’s not a race, Dune,” Mando scolded. She rolled her eyes with a soft laugh.

“Whatever, man, just go worry about your barricades, ok?”

“Ok,” then, a beat later, “Bet we’ll probably finish first.”

“Yeah yeah, typical man, always finishing before the woman,” Cara rolled her eyes dramatically before winking at him and lightly punching his chest. She turned and walked towards her group before she could catch his reaction.

It took hours for either group to make headway on their respective projects, but by the time they stopped, just before sunset, Cara’s group had finished, while Mando’s had _almost_ finished. In all fairness to Mando, building barricades _was_ slightly more time-consuming than digging in the dirt. Even so, when she caught a glimpse of Mando after each of them dismissed the villagers, he seemed pretty proud of their progress. Cara was, too, and if she was honest, even though it had been a while, she enjoyed digging and doing manual labor. Maybe it was the farmer in her that felt that satisfaction of accomplishing something by the sweat of her brow. And man oh man was she _sweaty._ Cara was covered from her hands to her elbows in dirt, and she knew she had some on her face, having had to rub her forehead before sweat got into her eye. Her hair was beginning to stick to her temples and her cheeks, and she honestly felt like she was going to have to peel her clothes off to remove them. She walked down the small dirt divide in the middle of all the ponds and met Mando at the other end as he inspected one of the barricades. They looked just as they had pictured and discussed, and Cara allowed herself to feel a bit of hope that things may work out their way after all.

“Those barricades are coming along,” Cara complimented.

“Yes, they are. And I think you all finished digging into those ponds in record time,” Mando returned her compliment.

“Yeah, well, we all worked hard today,” Cara added, feeling her face grow hot. Cara had struggled with accepting compliments for as long as she could remember as she never quite knew what to say in response to one. Thankfully Mando didn’t say anything further and the two reached the patio of the barn to find another platter of food set out. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation. “Oh thank goodness,” she sighed in relief at the sight and smell of the food, “I was getting really hungry, there.”

“Let me go get the kid and we’ll talk a bit while you all eat,” Mando turned towards the clearing where the kids were playing some kind of game with a small ball.

“What about you?” Cara asked. She knew that if Mando didn’t eat now, _before_ feeding the kid, he’d likely get distracted by something else and forget to eat altogether.

“I’ll eat after I kick your ass,” he promised her teasingly.

“I’m sure you meant after _I_ kick _your_ ass,” Cara amended his confident statement.

“You heard me, Dune,” he retorted in a tone that was positively brimming with mischief. Cara, who was thoroughly enjoying this witty banter between them, didn’t even try to stop herself,

“You wish!” she called out when he was some distance away. She could see him shaking his head and allowed herself a small smile of victory. Cara didn’t want to dwell on the fact that this sort of back-and-forth seemed to come so _naturally_ to them, but she couldn’t help herself. Even though every easy conversation and teasing moment felt so…right, she _still_ knew she couldn’t allow herself to enjoy it. It wouldn’t last.

Shoving her cynicism aside with a fierce shake of her head, she reminded herself that their ability to interact naturally and match each other was a good thing, considering the two were going to be fighting side-by-side in less than a week. Their camaraderie, even after just a few days of knowing each other, could be used to their advantage.

Deciding that she could allow herself to enjoy his company _for now_ , she picked up her bread and soup and began to eat. She had just started when she heard Mando and his tiny charge walking up the stairs of the barn. The little green creature made a small noise of excitement when he saw her (though she had a feeling that was mostly because she was sitting in front of the food). Cara could feel the Mandalorian’s eyes on her, his head tilted questioningly.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t eat any of yours,” she assured him with a wink. Mando just shook his head (she was pretty sure he was rolling his eyes, too) as he sat the kid down and picked up the soup and bread from the tray. The kid clapped his hands gleefully as Mando began to feed him the bread dipped in broth. She eyed the pair, an odd feeling of peace and…longing?... building up in her chest, a longing she quickly quashed as she commented on the day’s events to the armored man, “I feel like we made a lot of progress today. What do you think?”

“Yes, we did,” Mando agreed, “What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“You get my group for target practice and I get yours. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll switch and then before dinner we’ll finish those barricades. Sound good to you?”

“Sounds great, actually,” Mando nodded, “As long as we can get a bath at some point. I smell nasty.”

 _No kidding,_ Cara thought. _Frankly, we both smell like wet nerfs. _

“I know, I can smell you from here,” Cara decided to joke. He turned to face her, and she realized he was probably about to make a defensive statement or make a jab at her own smell. She beat him to it with the comment, “But your B.O. has nothing on mine at the moment. If I don’t have a bath soon I’m pretty sure I’ll scare off any raiders with my scent.”

She was rewarded by the Mandalorian shaking his head in amusement, a small snort escaping him, and Cara felt oddly proud that she was able to elicit such a response from the man. Cara finished her dinner in silence, as did the little green guy (although he did not eat quite as silently). When the kid let out a small belch signaling his satisfaction, Mando spoke up.

“I’m going to put him to bed if you don’t mind,” he said then.

“No, no, you’re fine,” Cara assured him, feeling a bit awkward as she tried in vain to get the hair and dirt off her face. Giving up on that endeavor, she began to stack her dishes and the kid’s dishes on top of each other on the tray as she encouraged the Mandalorian to take his time. Smiling and nodding a bit joltingly, she then exited the barn, stepping off the patio onto the long grass in front of the barn to begin her stretching. She had just begun stretching her shoulder when the singing began,

_Duérmete mi niño…_

“Again?” Cara whispered, grasping her stomach as she felt grief well up in her once more, twisting her insides and causing the dinner in her stomach to churn and causing her chest to tighten as well. Not wanting the villagers to see her practically doubled over like this, she quickly moved away from the barn out of earshot (for the most part) and dropped down to the ground, shaking as she brought herself into child’s pose with short, shuddering breaths. She began repeating this mantra to center herself as she attempted to get her breathing and her emotions under control.

_I am a warrior. I am strong. I can do this. I can overcome this moment. Vivo e combatto per la mia famiglia._

When the singing finally stopped and Cara felt somewhat more at ease, she stood, beginning to stretch in earnest again, but still feeling a bit out of focus. She heard the distinct clanging of the Mandalorian’s armor as he stepped off the front porch, but didn’t register that it was him, her mind still far away.

“You ready?” she heard his voice call and even though she knew he was there, the sound of another person’s voice permeating the otherwise quiet evening made her jump, ever so slightly. She heard the hesitance in his tone, as if he was concerned he had interrupted her. Instead of rolling her eyes at his trepidation, Cara turned to him and flashed him a forced smile.

“Yeah, of course,” she responded with false confidence. The two then walked towards the open field behind the village so as not to disturb the villagers’ daily life or cause a commotion.

“Alright, Mando,” she turned toward him, hands on hips once they reached the field, “Anything in particular you’d like to work on?”

“Not really,” he shrugged, “I figured we’d just start sparring and see what happened.”

 _Alright then_ , she nodded before shifting into a ready position, “Show me what you got,” she teased, beckoning him to come closer with two of her fingers. In seconds, he had closed on her, reaching for her arm, but she quickly yanked it back before throwing a spinning kick which struck true with a “ding” of his helmet that sent him staggering. He let out a string of curses in another language, likely Mando’a by the sound of it. “I thought you were trying to beat me, Mando,” she teased again, and this time he leaned in with a punch, one she dodged, but she barely noticed his other hand reaching for her hair, giving it a good yank back.

“Fuck!” she swore, and even though she was in pain, unbidden, an image appeared of a certain Mandalorian pulling her hair for an entirely different reason. _Cara, get it together!_ She mentally chastised as she reached back, finding his pressure points to get him to release her hair and twisting his arm. He yanked it out of her grasp.

“Ouch!”

“That’s what you get! That was a dirty move!” she pointed to him.

“Those Klatoonians may fight dirty. We must be prepared for everything,” he explained, but all she could think was _Excuses, excuses._ The next words out of his mouth surprised her, though. “I want you to show me how you did that.”

Blinking back her surprise, she gave him a slow nod, “Ok.”

For the next half hour or so, Mando became her pupil of sorts, and though she knew that he was _more_ than decent at hand to hand combat, it pleased her that he had been so open to learning different moves from different fighting styles that would help him. As he practiced these new movements, she allowed him to practice on her and pin her, though she would counter his movements and pin him, as well, on occasion. She would give him pointers, correct his stances, and then he would do it again. Cara would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that being pinned by him (and pinning him in return) _did_ things to her. Combine that with the hair-pulling, and Cara was beginning to find herself a little bit turned on by the whole experience.

It’s not like she had never been pinned before or pinned someone else before. I mean, the two _did_ meet because she drop-kicked him from a roof. But it was different. She had been fighting for her life. Now, it was different. She knew that her opponent was a friend, and sparring with him had a different feel to it.

Come to think of it, in an odd way, depending on the mood, sparring _could_ be considered foreplay.

Shaking her head of those thoughts (she was having to do a lot of that lately), she allowed herself to be knocked to the ground forcefully once more before lightly pushing the heavy, metal-clad man off her.

“Ok,” she started with a deep breath as she stood, tucking her hair behind her ears “Now come at me again, but this time, I won’t hold back.”

“You’ve got it,” he agreed, and she heard the challenge in his tone.

The two began to spar seriously, and neither pulled their punches as they engaged in combat that was reminiscent of their initial meeting, complete with blows to the stomach and head. At first, Cara pinned him repeatedly. But then, it all changed. They reset, standing in ready position, and after a few kicks and punches and leg locks, to Cara’s chagrin, he got the first pin. As he placed the weight of his entire body on her, he leaned over her to hold her hands above her head. Cara was strong and she knew it, but she couldn’t fight the strength of Mando’s one hand firmly grasping her two. If she was being honest, his strength surprised her.

 _Remind me to challenge him to an arm wrestling match when this whole thing is done,_ she thought, somewhat impressed as she bucked her entire weight into the Mandalorian’s body. To any outsider, this movement-and the position of the two-may imply they were engaged in *ahem* _other_ activities. Indeed, Cara was keenly aware of this, more than she’d like to admit. Every time her body made contact with his, she would subtly add a small roll of her torso, forcing her breasts to come up a little higher and thus emphasize their presence. She wasn’t sure if this would have any effect on the man-she couldn’t obviously read his facial expression and his body position was such that he seemed very unaffected by the implications of their current position.

After repeating the movement a third time, she felt the Mandalorian loosen his grip, if only slightly. She immediately took the opportunity to use the strength of her body and her hands to throw him off her, making sure to keep their legs tangled to make subduing him less effort for her.

He fell backwards with a tell-tale clank of his head on the ground, and Cara reached up and pinned his hands with hers in a way that was almost an exact reversal of their previous positions. At her success, she exclaimed a victorious, “Ha!”

Straddling him, Cara then slid herself backwards to make sure his center was pinned to the ground, which would effectively prevent him from throwing her off. But as she slid backwards, she discovered a small problem.

Well, actually, it wasn’t such a small problem.

But it was definitely firm, life-like, and it felt _really_ nice against her-

 _Wait a minute, is he-?_ She slid back and forth a few times to test her theory, trying desperately to ignore her body sending her signals that the friction of him against her center was… _pleasant_ , to say the least. He must have felt the same, because she could have sworn she heard a sharp exhalation of breath come from his vocorder. Her distraction at the sound proved to be her downfall, though, as, in half an instant, he shoved her off so violently it knocked some sense into her.

After the initial shock of what had just happened had worn off, she realized that he had thrown her off because he was _embarrassed_ at his reaction. In all reality, she was slightly embarrassed at her own reaction, but she would never let _him_ notice that she was embarrassed (and truthfully, Cara was also thankful her excitement wasn’t quite so physically obvious). And so, in an effort to diffuse the awkwardness, she decided to do what she did best in awkward situations-joke around.

“Oh, so you _like_ getting pinned huh?” she commented with a wink as she sat up. 

“Shut up, Dune. I can’t control that stuff,” he hunched over as if to hide his arousal, “Let’s just forget that happened.”

 _Men_ , she wanted to roll her eyes. 

“If you say so,” she said in a singsong voice, her tone still teasing. She could _hear_ the low growl of frustration coming from him in response and in her heightened state, the sound sent a zap of pleasure straight through her body to where she was practically aching with want. _Damn it, Cara, you really need to get laid if a growl is all it takes to get you going. _

“Look,” she continued, ignoring her own feelings of arousal as she stood, “It’s no big deal, ok? Could’ve happened to anyone. I’m just teasing you.” It was true. This wasn’t the first time she had sparred a man and he had become sexually aroused. Cara was no prude, either. Clearly nothing she did seemed to make the situation better, so in a show of good sportsmanship, she reached out to help him up. He wasn’t having it, though, and he batted her hand away, much like she had done to his own the night before. He was still embarrassed.

 _Oh well, at least I tried,_ she shrugged. She didn’t know the Mandalorian well, but she knew that he probably just felt vulnerable and he’d probably be over it in the morning. “Fine, suit yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she waved, winking one last time as she turned to walk back to her barn, giggling the whole way back. She couldn’t help herself. _He’s just so cute when he’s embarrassed,_ she thought. 

Her mind was swimming with a lot of thoughts concerning what had just transpired as she lay her head on her duffle, and even his (adorable) embarrassed response wasn’t enough to cool her down. There was only way to solve this problem-well, there was only one way available to her at the moment. _I can’t believe I’m getting off thinking about a man whose face I’ve never seen,_ she thought as her hand made its way down the front of her pants.

It didn’t take long before she was gasping her release, and after coming down from her high, her body humming with satisfaction (for the moment), her normally over-active brain decided to allow her exhausted body rest as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Cara woke up along with the rest of the village, but after literally dry heaving after smelling her arm pits, she decided that she needed a bath. Stat. After getting directions from the villagers, she made her way down to the nearby river with a clean set of clothes.

Cara was quite accustomed to bathing in unusual areas when she was a soldier, and had often bathed in nearby bodies of water after she had left the New Republic when she didn’t have anywhere else to stay. This would be no different. Luckily for her, the river’s current was slow-moving and waist-high, and the water was almost as clear as the ponds. _This is perfect,_ she thought after shedding her clothes and stepping into the lukewarm water ( _Hey,_ she thought, _at least it isn’t freezing cold._ ). After washing and cleaning her body, Cara washed and cleaned her dirty clothes, hanging them on a line nearby to dry. She also was able to clean her armor, though not as thoroughly as she would have liked. (She had a limited amount of time, after all.) She then dressed and braided her hair by the river before heading back with armor in tow.

The Mandalorian said nothing as she walked up from the river towards the villagers who had congregated by him, though he nodded to her to acknowledge her arrival (one she returned).

 _Oh good,_ she thought with some relief, _I’m glad he’s over what happened last night._

The two spent the rest of the day as they had originally planned: training the villagers and finishing the barricades. By evening both were tired, but they sparred together anyways, though she suspected by the way he would pin her less heavily that they were both trying to avoid any sort of contact below the belt (and thus avoid another night of feeling Mando getting hard under her-or over her-again).

And yes, Mando sang the song to the kid again that evening after dinner. Cara immediately knew what to do when she heard the song this time, and repeated that mantra she used to center herself over and over again until her heartbeat calmed (slightly) and her breathing slowed.

Mando also got a bath, too, that evening. Thank the _stars._

The following three days passed the same as the first few, and soon Cara felt herself growing accustomed to their daily routine. It was the evenings that she dreaded most, because without fail, every evening after dinner, the Mandalorian would hum and/or sing that damn lullaby. Centering herself became easier and easier the more she heard him sing the song, and her grief-induced panic attacks would last less time, giving her more time to think about the Mandalorian’s relationship to that song.

 _How does he know this song?_ She began to ask herself. She _knew_ that song did not come from Mandalore. _So how does the Mandalorian know it?_ She knew Mandalorians travelled frequently, so perhaps he had heard that lullaby on one of his travels. _Could he have perhaps traveled to the planet the Djarins had once occupied?_ That would explain how he knew it, but it couldn’t explain the sadness she heard in his voice when he sang it, or the perfect pronunciation of the words he did know. _Could he be a native to the same planet as the Djarins?_ She thought, then. _If so, then how did he become a Mandalorian?_ The more she thought about it, the more questions filled her mind and the more desperate she became to know the answers.

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure _why_ she was so desperate to know. Maybe it was just a desire to find someone else who shared a childhood memory associated with this song. Maybe it was because she knew that her mother would have done _anything_ to find a connection to her dearest and closest friend and her friend’s family, and in that way, she would be doing her mother a favor by finding a connection, even if it was as simple as finding someone from the same planet as the Djarins.

An odd, fleeting thought crossed her mind, then. _What if he is_ _a Djarin? They never did find Din Djarin’s body…_ but she quickly shook her head of that thought, _Now you’re_ really _reaching, Cara,_ she scolded herself, _Din is dead, or you and your family would have already found out._

On the fifth day since their arrival to this village, Cara and the Mandalorian both had the opportunity to bathe in the evening after a particularly dirty sparring session. Mando had gone first, with Cara sitting a little ways away with her back to him in order to both guard him and keep an eye on the villagers. Briefly, she decided to look up at the night sky, and she began to think of what her mother had said about becoming stardust when we died. Now, stardust was all that was left of her home planet. _How ironic_ , she thought bitterly, _that everything became star dust when my family, friends, and my people died. _She turned her gaze from the stars back towards the village as she wiped away some angry tears that she didn’t even know had welled up in her eyes. _Perhaps I will join them tomorrow,_ she mused. Cara knew she wasn’t invincible, and that there was a chance every time she went into battle that she could die.

There was a chance the Mandalorian could die, too. And the kid. And all the people in the village…

She could hear the Mandalorian behind her, washing himself and washing his clothing and, presumably, his armor. _I’ve got to ask him about the lullaby. Tonight,_ she decided. If she was going to find out about the song, it needed to be tonight. _It might be my only chance._

She sat, absorbed in thought as she considered how she might broach the subject with the Mandalorian. She was so lost in thought she didn’t even hear him coming up the hill. 

“Your turn,” she heard a male voice speak, and before she could even register who it was, she was up on her feet, fists raised and at the ready. _Oh, it’s him,_ she realized, blushing a little in embarrassment at being caught off-guard. She took in Mando’s appearance. He was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt and some black, loose-fitting pants along with his boots. He was carrying his armor in a netted bag over his shoulder. Obviously, he was also wearing his helmet. She had never seen him without all his armor on before and she noted that he looked…relaxed. He smelled better, too, like rain and lavender soap.

“You smell better,” she commented wryly, finally lowering her fists.

“I should hope so,” he quipped, looking down as he smoothed his shirt adorably. She couldn’t help but smile as she pat his shoulder, slinging her pack over her back before walking down to the creek.

Cara rushed through cleaning, not wanting to leave Mando up on that hill for too long, knowing he had to get back to the kid. Once she had finished hanging up her dirty laundry and after rinsing her armor, she gathered it into her own armor bag and hiked up the hill to where he sat, polishing his armor, while also occasionally looking up to make sure all was well in the village. He heard her approach, and he seemed as taken aback with her appearance as she had been with his. Cara hadn’t bothered to braid her hair, and now the wet strands hung rather limply around her face. She wore a basic black t-shirt and a pair of black form-fitting stretchy pants with her boots. After a few moments, she noticed that he was still staring, his hands still on the rag that had been shining his vambraces. She blushed as she averted her gaze, feeling a little vulnerable, if she were honest. The spell was broken, and he began to put his armor away as he stood up. Cara hadn’t stopped blushing though, and was still feeling an odd excitement at being the object of his awkward staring, though she couldn’t see his eyes. The butterflies were beginning to flutter in her stomach as the two walked side by side back towards the village, mirroring each other with their respective armor slung over opposite shoulders.

 _Fuck,_ was the only word to come to Cara’s mind. _Fuck fuck fuckety fuck._ She knew what that flutter meant. She was attracted to him. She could chalk it up to not having had sex in literal ages (That’s the excuse she gave herself last night for her reaction) but that wasn’t it. There was _something_ mysterious and sexy about him that she was beginning to find irresistible. _Fuck. So much for not getting attached._

Mind you, she didn’t _like like_ the guy. She didn’t know him well enough for that, yet. But given time…

Yeah. She was attached, all right. This was horrendously bad timing to have such a realization.

They reached the barn and Omera passed the child on to Mando, but not before giving him a soft, affectionate look, one Mando seemingly shared.

 _There, see?_ She scolded herself. _You need to let go. He doesn’t even think of you that way._

She sat on the patio of the barn as Mando walked inside to put the child to sleep. She began to braid her hair, her fingers moving almost without thought as she centered herself, inhaling deeply and counting to five before exhaling slowly. She let all thoughts of attraction to the Mandalorian and her worries about the next day fade away as she prepared her mind and heart for Mando to sing the lullaby.

 _I’ve got to ask him when he comes out,_ was the only thought she allowed in her brain as she tried to drown out the sound of the Mandalorian singing sweetly to the kid, his voice as pained as ever. Tonight, though, her mind was not calm. Her eyes were focused straight ahead when he finished and stepped outside, but her thoughts were swirling with memories and emotions. He sat down next to her and it occurred to Cara at that moment that she had an iron grip on her hair and was pulling the strands harshly into the braid, much like her mother would do when Cara wouldn’t hold still. She softened her grip slightly and finished her braid before pinning it, not even turning once to look at Mando.

Her mind was practically screaming with questions, even though the air was still and silent. The questions were overwhelming her and threatening to spill out all at once, so she took a deep breath and decided to ask a question she already knew the answer to, just to gauge his reaction.

“What’s that song you were singing?” she asked softly without looking his direction. She made a show of tucking her braid under her hair and smoothing it down.

After a beat, Mando spoke, his voice sounding genuinely confused. “What song?”

 _Oh for the love of-_ “You know,” she huffed, frustrated that she had to explain herself and possibly expose the sentimentality behind this question which would no doubt lead to _him_ asking questions she didn’t want to answer, “the song you sing to the kid before you go to bed.”

He paused, tilting his head to one side as if trying to read her before responding, slowly, “Why do you ask?”

_Ugh, Mando! Why can’t you just answer the question? Why do you have to make this even harder for me?_ “Just curious,” she shrugged, trying her hardest to come off as nonchalant as she went back to staring straight ahead. Her heart was pounding, though, and those questions just kept getting louder and louder in her head.

There was just a moment of silence, in which Mando tilted his helmet again towards her before looking straight ahead himself, “I’ve known it since childhood,” was all he said, more or less unemotionally. _Oh,_ she thought, _so he must’ve lived on that planet the Djarins lived on at some point._ If he was actually _from_ that planet, as she suspected, his unemotional response was not unexpected. He had likely seen and heard terrible things, and, like Cara, he suppressed emotions related to painful memories.

It didn’t mean she was going to stop with her questions, though. If anything, that answer had made her even _more_ curious.

She didn’t even try to betray her curiosity when she asked, “What language is that? It didn’t sound like Mando’a.” She knew what the language was, but she was trying to get him to tell her how he went from speaking this language to speaking Mando’a. It was the most burning question at the moment.

“It isn’t,” he answered curtly, continuing to stare straight ahead, like her, now.

This man was frustrating her to no end. _Why can’t he just answer the damn question?_ She asked herself. _Why does he keep deflecting?_ A little voice that sounded a lot like her conscience reminded her that he was no different from her. _Yeah, I know I’m a hypocrite,_ she conceded, _but it doesn’t make me any less curious._

“I know _that_ ,” she all but rolled her eyes as she let out an exasperated sigh, “I’m asking how you knew this song if it wasn’t in your native tongue.”

His response was, unsurprisingly, defensive and barbed. “Why do you care so much about a stupid lullaby?”

 _Stupid?!_ She whirled to face him at that word, _How fucking dare he call that lullaby stupid?! How dare he act like this isn’t important to him, too._ The memories were flashing like some kind of holo-movie behind her eyes as she glared daggers at him, trying with all her might to keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks. 

_Whatever, this asshole doesn’t get it. I shouldn’t have even bothered._

“You know what? Forget about it,” she turned away, harshly picking picked up her chest piece and pretending to violently scrub it with a rag, “You and your damn _secrets_ ,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. She couldn’t give two flying kriffs if he heard her, though.

His reaction was immediate. “As if you don’t have secrets?” he accused, “You won’t even tell me why this is so important to you.” He was becoming irritated with her questions, she knew. And it frustrated her even more.

 _This…man…just…Ugh!_ “It’s _not,_ ok?” she snapped as she angrily threw the rag down before letting out a deep sigh and continuing, her voice almost a growl, “Can’t even ask a damn question without you getting defensive.”

“Same to you,” he countered sharply. For a moment, she and Mando sat there, both irritated and frustrated and angry. _Honestly, we’re both too alike,_ she realized, _we are both shit at coping with trauma. Maybe that’s why we get along so well._

She decided to extend an olive branch of sorts as she took a deep breath before speaking lowly, looking down so he couldn’t see her still-tear-filled eyes, “I’ve heard that song before. That’s why I asked.”

She heard him turn to her, almost immediately, and she glanced up to see his body language reading surprise.

He was staring straight at her when he asked, “Where?” in a tone that was just as quiet as hers, but betrayed his own curiosity.

_Oh, what the hell. May as well tell him now._

“I was a kid,” she informed him, turning to him, “Not my native language, though,” she added, knowing he may think she was from his planet if she didn’t add that tidbit. She hoped he wouldn’t ask where she _was_ from. She wasn’t ready for Mando to know that yet. There was silence for a few moments before Mando finally said something.

“It is mine,” he admitted, and she heard the reluctance in his voice. “I am not a native to Mandalore. I am-or rather, I was- a foundling.”

Cara wasn’t entirely familiar with Mandalorian culture, but she did know that foundlings were orphans taken in by the Mandalorians. Cara wasn’t surprised to learn this; she had figured out by his odd accent and his pronunciation of the lullaby that he was not a native to Mandalore. Her heart broke for him, knowing that he had gone through so much, likely at a young age. She had so many questions still-when did he become a foundling? How did his parents die? But she knew that he had already opened up so much and it was unlikely he’d want to share more. Cara, feeling like at least _some_ of her questions were answered, nodded, content with his answer for now. She could feel he likely had more questions for her, too. But that would have to wait. She turned back to shining her chest piece, and the two continued to sit in relative silence, polishing their armor for some time before Mando finally spoke again.

“So, let’s talk about who’s doing what, since we’re doing the run-through tomorrow morning,” his voice was all business.

“Ok,” Cara concurred, the emotions and sentimentality of their previous conversation gone.

They spent the next hour and a half dividing the villagers into their teams and making some final adjustments to the battle plan. Cara could feel the adrenaline begin to build at the thought of going to battle tomorrow evening and she knew she was in for a sleepless night. After finalizing the plan and their list of teams, they said good night and headed back to their barns for some rest that she knew would not come.

That night she lay down, and honestly, she was feeling _more_ confused than ever. She thought that by having that conversation with Mando and finding that connection to the Djarin family (as it was now clear they were from the same planet) and finding out more about him that she would feel a sense of relief. Instead, though she _was_ glad she knew more about the Mandalorian, she felt that this information, rather than easing her anxiety, added to it. Now that she found that she and Mando had both heard this song in their childhood, and knowing that it was more than likely they were _both_ orphaned and piss poor at dealing with their traumas, Cara longed to know _more._ She wanted to explore this connection-this possible friendship?- with the Mandalorian, and the thought that one or both of them may not be there at this time tomorrow scared her because she knew that she had failed _magnificently_ at avoiding attachments. The conversation they had just had only served to connect them further. Her heart literally dropped at the thought of losing Mando…or anyone in this village.

And as her thoughts began to race, her heart squeezing with worry, she knew tonight was going to be a _longggg_ night.

**

_The Next Day-The Day of the Battle_

Thankfully, by the grace of whatever being was looking out for her, she did end up falling asleep for a few hours. She was awakened by a stream of sunlight that was beginning to peek through the cracks in between the branches that were woven together to form the walls of the barn. Groggily, she slathered on some deodorant, put on her chest armor and grabbed all her weapons. If they were going to do a rehearsal of the battle, she wanted to make sure she was wearing and carrying everything she planned on having with her that evening. 

She made her way toward Mando, who she could see from a distance was sitting outside the barn in full armor feeding bread to the tiny green goblin on the patio. The kid was wanting to walk around and play instead of sit and eat and Mando had to grab him and practically hold him down whenever he started to stand, something that the child protested quite loudly.

“Maybe Omera should add some frogs on the side; that’d get him to sit nicely,” she remarked as she approached the pair, standing with her arms folded as she took in the entertaining scene in front of her. The kid stopped squirming and looked up at her, tilting his fuzzy head sideways at the word ‘frogs’.

Mando let out a sarcastic “ha” before jokingly scolding her, “Oh great, now you’ve given him ideas. See what you’ve done?” Cara couldn’t help put smirk at the thought as she sat down next to him, picking up what she assumed was her breakfast on the tray. (Mando, she had found, would not eat breakfast but would save it for a later time, during a mid-morning break in training. He usually had already saved it in the barn when she got there in the mornings.)

“What?” she threw her arms up in mock-innocence, “I’m not giving him any ideas he didn’t already have. In fact, I’m sure he’ll sneak a snack when he’s playing with the other kids later,” she chuckled as she looked over at the wrinkly little creature covered in bread crumbs.

“No doubt about that,” Mando acknowledged with a small sigh as the kid let out a coo seemingly of affirmation before taking another bite of his bread.

“So, how are you doing this morning? Did you sleep?” Cara asked. Even though they were equals, old habits die hard and Cara realized she was asking him the same questions she’d ask her soldiers when she knew there’d be a drop that night.

She knew _she_ was feeling like a soldier again prepping for a battle- nervous, excited, and beginning to feel adrenaline pumping through her veins.

“I did,” he answered simply. Cara nodded as she took a bite of bread, expecting that this was all he was going to say on the subject. No matter; she knew if he was nervous he likely wouldn’t tell her. He surprised her by asking, “How about you?”

Granted, her soldiers would ask that question on occasion of her after giving their response, and normally, she would try to keep their spirits up by responding with, “Ready to kick some Imp ass.” Such false assurances of confidence would do little to encourage the Mandalorian; this she knew.

“Didn’t sleep much, but I never did the night before a drop as a soldier,” she responded matter-of-factly as she took a small sip of caf. 

“Mm,” he assented with a small nod. She turned back to her meal and he turned back to the kid for a few minutes.

“So,” she began after finishing her meal, “I lay down the plan with team 1 and get them in position, and you do the same with team 2, right?”

“Correct,” Mando confirmed.

“Then _I_ practice with my team and you practice with yours for about an hour before we practice together.”

“Sounds right to me,” he agreed.

“Ok, then when you’re done with little Mr. Messy Pants come and meet me over by where the villagers are. I’m going to go ahead and check in with them,” she told him as she stood, tossing the rest her caf back with one long gulp before putting it on the tray with her plate.

“Got it.”

She made her way over to the villagers, who were all congregated by one of the barriers. She could sense their nervous excitement and knew that as their commander, more or less, she needed to settle them. They had spent a lot of time together in the last few days, so she knew they trusted her now. They needed to hear a calm, confident, reassuring voice, not a commanding one right now. That would come later, once they started going over the plans and practicing them. She engaged them in casual conversation, something that wasn’t her strong suit but something she knew would put them more at ease, having dealt with nervous fresh recruits before.

If she was honest, it was a little unsettling how easily she fell back into this role as a soldier and commander.

The Mandalorian walked over after some minutes, and she could hear the coos of the kid as he played with the other children in the clearing where they would spar.

As soon as he walked up, Commander Cara was back. The two warriors split the villagers up into teams and walked their respective teams through the battle. The next hour was spent practicing as individual teams before the two groups combined and they ran through the whole battle plan several times.

Cara and Mando had to practice their parts several times, too, which entailed high-tailing it out of the forest and cuing the shooting team to ready themselves. By noon, both the villagers and their “commanders” were feeling tired and Cara felt confident that they were as ready as they could be. Before taking a break for lunch, they gathered the villagers together.

“Ok, everyone,” Cara addressed the group, hands sitting confidently on her hips, “that was a great practice run. Tonight, though, is the real deal. Expect things to not go according to plan. Remember your training. You have done well so far and I am confident in your abilities. Eat, get some rest, and we will see you this evening.”

The villagers let out a small cheer before going their separate ways, some even stopping to shake her hand or Mando’s. When they had all cleared out, Cara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding, her posture drooping slightly.

Truly, though the villagers had really done well, there was no telling how this was going to go. Her stomach turned over at the thought of some of these villagers who had shaken her hand or practiced so enthusiastically dying in front of her. And heaven forbid any of the children got involved in this. And Mando…

“Credit for your thoughts?” Mando tilted his helmet towards her, as if sensing her unease.

“I just hope everything goes well, that’s all,” she crossed her arms over her chest, gripping her biceps in a gesture not of confidence but of concern, her brows furrowing anxiously.

“Cara,” he spoke, his voice firm. She turned to meet her eyes with his T-visor, “It will,” he assured her, hand coming up and resting on her shoulder. She was still nervous, but the confidence and sureness of his tone seemed to send a wave of calm through her. Without thinking, she reached across her torso with her opposite hand to pat his hand appreciatively.

“Thanks,” she offered him a small smile, not wanting to break the peace of this moment. Alas, that peace was not to last as the sound of a squeal caused both Cara and the Mandalorian to turn with almost a jump of a surprise to its source. The kid was there in the field, chasing after a runaway frog. She watched as he turned round and round in circles before finally catching the frog and shoving it in his mouth. “Told you he’d sneak a snack,” she ribbed him lightly with a wink.

“That may not be his first, unfortunately,” the Mandalorian groaned, shaking his head. Cara gave a snort of amusement as they walked towards the kid, who had a satisfied smile on his face when he saw the two making their way towards them.

“Meet you at the barn?” Cara asked, unable to help the half-grin that somehow appeared on her face as the kid barreled towards them, stumbling all over the place like a tiny drunk.

“Sure thing,” Mando replied, and Cara could _hear_ him smiling underneath his helmet. As she continued toward the barn, watching the two interact, she reminded herself that no matter what happened tonight, Mando and his kid were going to live. Period.

She wouldn’t be able to bear any other outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are Baby Yoda cuddles. 
> 
> (You don't have to give feedback; I honestly just appreciate that you read this far!)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading all the way to the end of this chapter. There is more to come so stay tuned!


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